Tuesday, July 28, 2015

the stinky poem

 a bloom of words from a
saturated tongue tickles
 imprisoned minutes

and in big grey puffs
I see the same abandon in the poem

sinking right in
curves across  my heart
the mights unrested
to even remembrances of a face
I never even knew


Friday, July 10, 2015

The cubicle of seven threes

I promise
I am not here
to prove an ape.

Or to
tell you something I
heard waiting
to fall asleep

I forgot the rest



Thursday, July 2, 2015

learning tennis

moving flesh
inside our hearts
coloring and
collecting like waves at the seashore

a heart can
draw the sky over
and in each movement
all I don't know is