the slightest inkling
of time drowned evening purfumes
like fascists it led them
marching through poppies through wheatfeilds
golden like incan possesion
through generations of birch trunks
with their submissive earthsoiled snouts
the vermillion second dawn polluting
whites of wisest of eyeballs
the time ran fastest, the scent oscillating
the masters sent lungclouds in the february breakfast hour
each breath was an anvil, and the colour reeked
of eggshell, moon crater and canvas
the mustached locomotives clamored
in innapropriate footwear
in custom wingtips, in exotic leathers
the canines apathetic to this tapdanced on shorelines
finally the sight of heel neglecting
palpitation fueled female footprints
the peacoats were strewn on terracotta steps
and the hounds with coffee grounds in nostrils
skated on poorly anticipated linoleums
it had been thirty four minutes since the gun fired
the gulfs blood impressionist, the brainmatter wall tapestry
she had been a novel writer
thousands of unwritten chapters in crimson
spilled out across half the kitchen
with burned batard and fresh camembert
of the shade of her cheekbones
untitled part one
Advertisement
