Wednesday, August 3, 2016


if you're listening there's pond-
erous lightning in the noosed and
forgiven softness: as round as an
egg and brightening with the sup-
posed asperity of wishes and sub-

tle dresses made for girls who've
outgrown them, dual carnatic pro-
cession won't cease and the rumb-
ling undertow lingers with scents
like russet liquor and a freudian

slipper who was born that way-- i
have all the synthetic brass pad-
ding my insides so i'll emit warm
blanketing to the barren and icey
if they prefer not to remit such;

behold falls and chic machineries
that illuminate the city night to
its wind and glass, castilian now
for the gratitude of linear skull
made so by the immensity of these

modemed concourses and the pianic
rain that appears in the shape of
beams: alive timber and bone giv-
en to shelter the less fortunate,
however surreal-- plan to pay the

piper, ambient and stuttered gold
chords embodied beatifying smiles
and resisting the profound: which
of us would allow ourselves to be
rewritten? merely a televisioner.

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