your voice where the seagulls are
an upward
like
in an
I shape) to stay alone
to fold this knife
wide-eyed over some reddish rolled
from India
tis makin me see, Jim
beneath the water
he’s close to my body
but can’t see
be like dumbo -
a mark, a feather
is okay i’ll gladly wait again in all the tinfoil lofts
or under a police
cruiser
mind dissolving
alone on a park bench
licking mustard off a brat
softly us ;
i’m lips
you’re pills
can u spork
methane
wide-eyed
Love Talented
in our separate tin boats
we pass each other
like odd wisps
of smoke
No comments:
Post a Comment