Thursday, July 7, 2016


Hard as it is to believe  -  clear as the
nose on your face, all the rest. The world's
coming down on their incidental heads, all
these people, but they let it stay. Rather be
captivated by dung-beetles today.
Let's write another cheesy poem, boys
and girls, about that butterfly you saw on
the glowing horizon, or how your cat
turned a joy-somersault this morning
at the rise of the sun and the glow of
the light. That falling leaf, which
tip-toed down the very stairs of
a glimmering Heaven, seen in 
blue, I guess by you, for the
very first time!
Tell me again of oh your broken hearts,
and all those missed caresses, or the scents
of a groin or the tear wispy-willow on
your old lover's cheek. That's a gun, by
the way, to your temple. Those are the
authorities there, the ones you unwittingly
let in to take over your lives while you
were lovingly gazing at stars. Yes, 
so lovingly gazing at stars.

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