The sea-salt licks
steam-blank
face-value

I've gotten used to
getting used to
getting used
too

So.
Parallels and hypochondriacs
rule this nation and
I've orbited the sun,
ride ending in the same damn place,
always facing towards or
away from a hot or a cold
juxtaposition

The angles make an army,
barrels thrown by apes
barrels rode down falls
bands of iron and stave
made of hearts

The mist obscures the bottom

06/29/2014

Posted on 06/29/2014
Copyright © 2025 David Maurice