Up for anything
once
but the sunrise,
its crumpled maps,
eye boring fingers,
dew fickle senses.

Break through the day,
we thought,
loosen scrutiny
in the dark thirst of clay
we knew.


Chase out the mud crawled song
sprawling preterition,
bang on bedrock bottoms
to seek underneath
sounds to a slush-torn autumn
baleful with rotting.

The sunrise raised us remembering
when to wet our senses,
kindly plucking eyes
staring holes through dead ends
in yesterday's drowning labyrinth.

09/16/2018

Posted on 09/16/2018
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