Tuesday, October 04, 2005

*

weatherbow years


tell me you don't love sound and how it turns
into royal blue or
                               a slur you suffered
many years ago      weatherluck weather
bourbon weatherbow years      i've changed so

ghosts careen aged and blended      and brittle
so brittle when i knock against myself
it's pick up sticks sharp snapped pick up sticks
dry riverbed betty summoned ashore

her bimbo waits as koko waits      and me
weatherborne years     as if weather brought time
one day the next is enough      after that
you're finished you want those fleischer houses

and streets      those comical curves      those mutters
under breath that black and white that faded


~


10 4 05

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