Monday, June 22, 2020


Too many of my origins
have been scorched,
climates folded, couches going up
in dust, closing refrigerator doors
discharging confetti voices,

floating through a powdered hallway
to tap the alarm,

I touch my plastic wrapped
smile of dough,

I retch the feathers
that have colored destiny,

climb the branches that lead
to the overwhelming light

and touch the feeling current
with worms and fur blankets
tucked into a series of gloves,

through a muddy sequence
from a clouded bulb, prick's trumpet
for a caught sparrow
languishing on his wire.

No comments: