Earth's Rotation.a low watt fire hazardwithin thin, thin glass ...sheis the last of the utility bulbspedestaled upside-down from a rusted, swinging socketflickering when it rainsdrying you into stainsstill dutifully outlining the edges of where you arein cyclic revolutionyou've come to a place where you now smile up at herand your leaking roof.
One's BrotherHe who would use a bulletproof vest to carry on fights in an elevator with an elderly woman...Cub of Milkless Mothers ~Bowed-Boned BuoyancyHe isLeanand Flawed yetStronger Than His Seams'His Uncontrived Life'.Leads to behaviors that would float no explanation. Some Sonsbaked in sun,wrung unsungbecome Enigmas.
Angel-SpeakIt isn't rightthrowing a child in the riverwithout their coatand without their keeperwithout artistic meritin your last words to either of them.It isn't right that you would cover their facesso... tightly.It isn't rightthat you waited til nightwhen Sturgeons would benearest to this treatwhile the moon is huge and you without a cameraor your wine.It isn't rightthat you do any of this ~even cleaning your nailsor nursing your fistespecially when you'll get no credit for it..
Those Open Casket AffairsPropped and cropped beyond warmth and lividity looking as natural as possibleEasily achieved if the goal is to represent deathand those passed awaylook no other wayno matter what you doIt's this tradition of feigning lifethat's wrong with the worldon both sides of mortality.
Things to Do While the Sky is BlueHope is a kite sore from stringy, clingy steeringHigh winds rashing up the cheeks knotting one hair to anotherbut we smile and run smile and run...Loose-shoe goosewith bugs in the grinkeep your eyes upand the sky comes with youFull circle is a skinned knee from stringy, singy flight
Diner PinersUnkempt gents minding their ownand the scraggly hags that avoid them;wallsmore see-through than windows they occupyare these newspapered ghosts with addendums.Wiley beards and crooked brassieresare met with smirking resolveas origami halos from non-absorb napkinsform a moot youth that dissolves.A perfect coffeestains the yapthey'll never live long enough to brightenwhile personification's memorypays towards the tab;a slow-moving bullet much like them.Those Rabis & Witchesdress their last daysin mothy green tweeds and cat hairin hopes of hands-free spiritual exchangeas much as they both hate to be there.
lovin it!
Gary
Glad you dig it, man.
But my toes felt like it was