the clouds are big top sombreros
buttering my lips and slick highway
eyes locked broad and breadth and in
and out a transfix cross hatch
bend that cafe bus stop where i sat when fall came all at once
my book and I imagining to topple summer through inference on the wind
chilling gusts
chilling gusts run back
that swept as changing clouds above the changing,
present air unsheathed (unbridled
(multiplying
(mountain air?
and desert bones
and oceans
to arms
a pike
a whorish parasol pressing its edge against a rim of glass
to lift itself, in suspense of wind, a moment possessed by rising
and sun pushed clearly
The umbrella
looking down from wings like dandelion imprints
ate wind like breath to fuel a burning bush
Shatter, table ice came down my boot cuff
and vigor swept clear as sky above
my red morning juice spilled in shards of patio glass
like blood from a bad day that wasnt
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
the rotting smell of life that leaves
could loathing be sensible shut up your senses for you would melt from the sense of it
safer now to sense the sense of self that senses its own end and the worth of others
but is like a geiger counter
and clicks not when turned on itself
and wants
as only a self can
in that most unnatural way
to give itself away
and melt into another
but the scent
which comes from its own self giving
it seems is most unwelcome
and so it gives to itself
until there will be nothing left
and that time will come
and they will all be surprised
except for the self
who knew all along
Post a Comment