the lean clearing appears
like a train. listen;
deciduous dreams are kicked
into the gorge, thoughts become
stones split off the precipice.
don’t i want to want? i think i could
be the child survived by useless tension.
shaking me awake, it is day, &
the body as life on the forest floor.
the keys around me like treasure
from a box of unwanted brass.
in search for sublime, i find some
garbage-bag inflated by heat.
it’s been so long since i found anyone
to share my brilliant red bird with.
Powered by Froala Editor
Powered by Froala Editor