I would outwit a
problem or sing with a siren a bit keen on weaving
a bus might whisk
by windows filled with faces
poverty holds a
vendetta. aqua scented perfumes water mixed with mud
tomorrow is
unforgiving.
I met Jeremiah.
each verse stung. I shared with her soul.
nickels or dimes
or quarters, but never coper.
the sun was chilly
the raisin tree was bleeding the patchwork was indecent.
color is choking.
memories become hallucinations. the plaint has been made.
we know it when we
see it. charisma is in the breeze. we are left with a palm of walnuts.
the winds are
fierce, chipmunks are gathering, hunters are sipping beers.
organic attraction
or fury in flesh
at a sawmill proving our status. Mrs. Wounded Wings, the moon is watching, it
testifies to the sugarcane fields.
in a mazeway,
eating blackwater, sleeping without dreams
or in a hallway
fighting a large tulip troubled to awaken
at wars in bellicose
lands reading a foreign journal.
an unvocal scream
into a lilac azure beneath mauve colored grass.
gray fur or beige fences
while pain sits in recesses: it hoots or growls or meows.
