poetry. thoughts and more than make-believe.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

sycamore smokes

blast sugar  
                     land      past
tree lining                   in river rows
                                     (how did they get in her backyard)
not knowing
but avoiding
church boulevards
                street signs

looking glass past
sun without glasses
(how many wrinkles crease her storybook eyes?)

i thought
whoa-horse--made it strong.

past the next breath
universal moment 
in between  (in between breathing 
                               lost jack russell on the corner)

white front engines
came upon               smiling
pure                                      teeth

--i laughed madly

like (your bike later)
                               she said,
where does she live?

i pointed to the house
without looking
               where 3 black coats lit
night time smokes

and i thought,

1 comment:

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