It is cold and grey outside, and wet.
and they stare still ever longing, at their screens, at their televised prophecied end
pixel twisted eyes unscroll boxes back to globe for burning core explode
and everywhere shrapnel, pets on the loose, towns bespeckled, your freckled fidelity
singing teenage mutant ninja turtles, heroes on the halfshell, turtle power...
Karaoke night in Milan
your mouth loud in odd places
corners of circles and off center centers.
Today, I feel like escaping to the roof.
The roof is a good place for this. Sky above, broken bones below--flight or shatter, I loved you.
Witnessing a tangle so opague and monochromatic, soon ceasing to exist
and sticking to my lip
was it not a relief to just stay put?
And were you not hungry when you finally moved?
No, I ate 199 Hoagie sandwiches.
somehow, i did that.
somehow I didn't.
Compare ______ to ______ . (select from: gourds, Creeley, paper towels, Iraq Bill veto, Svedka, mom)
then extend the metaphor to the toucan and the price of sugar in Peru and there you have
our love. What a fucking pity. This afternoon,
a stagnant smell of burned rubber and pesticide
emanated from the tip of my engorged
gorge, the way giraffes raise their heads to look over the trees.