Friday, February 27, 2009

lung breathers

all torn around the room, sleeves slid downward

and i’m done again with brain drops on the window outside.

some mad cricket can’t see no one’s interested

contains the why is bleeding by, blazing sped of offish vectors

driven mad by brainy sky, hazing head of office lectures

make it work the way i asked and care enough

and stop your contents.

my stirring hand needs more beer when i’m not allowed.

there’s been so little weather and it makes us sick,

sun that rises like it has to, three or four minutes of brain,

out to the ocean, where no one feels the pour

and lungs make the quiet not so,

heaving liquid down the hatch, panicked death of a mad cricket

if i’d gills, the blackened divide, sharing space with upward endless

would be the mile i’d walk around

leaving legs for a breathing, a melted sort of walkupon.

it’s raining on my house of water,

i care enough, i’ve found my contents

right beside the bordered bed

of living laterally,

rotating far from any sort of real dark place

i’ve never made in my mind the nothinggrand

like waves can make without the effort

saying not and still it means

the icy stare of space betweens

i think a few have, but most of them are dead,

conquered, quite plainly

knights of infinite resignation with no castle to defend

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