Power through time again
and the dying of leaves
switch-hitting at the answers
of dust-mite thoughts
roughly the size and shape
of Texas.
Filling voids long gone
with women's hopes
and rocket pride.
The act of labor
with ships at sea
fucking head-long
into whitewalls
and the tick grasps
gapingly at the point.
I am away and failing at it. Need more away.
No comments:
Post a Comment