A guilty groundward
glance, an ache against
meeting the all and all of
eyes. A screaming bell,
soaked stray sod, my
head bowed - Hey!
Hey. Miles away. A
black spot slid cross-
walk by black dog,
chattering trenchteeth,
the stars that hang above
brittle with deadleaf tremble -
How you been? Well, Hell
is an open-pilled palm
extended every instance,
knowing no matter red or blue,
again you’ll be asked
to choose -
Fine. You? Alive, wagering
from the walking. I’m
actually really good, Chris,
Fine. You. Alive. I actually
had a dream where miles
away, I was a bell in the rain.
...but yeah, really great
running into a gesture glibly
given, hoisting the back-
borne bones - You too,
take care - the ceiling
was waiting.
No comments:
Post a Comment