Tuesday, April 12, 2005

more self-indulgent poetry


he constructs new meanings

from the top of the rim

and our ball dribbles

grinding elbows grit

and the moon orbits -- from the top of the air

as flies fly the grass, near

clothes baptized in sweat

pure eschatology, acts of apostles

sounds of barbecue

sifting through our nostrils

our shadows, they battle

wrestling within the asphalt

in the evenin’ they stretch

a yard for every given inch


our guests include the

Pistol’s and the Doctor’s legacies

and they laugh and they assume

shameful poses at their histories

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Be kind. Rewind.