in this brief epoch we ache of sitting down kerplunk.
occasional blindness, earphones crumbling, reserve
carparks amidst alienating & thought-of flowers
sadly just because. some forms perforated,
shipwrecks gone awol. whomever my stuffed-
animals would reify in their boredom wakes
in the cupboard. alarm-clock of synesthestic intent,
mulled ideation under roof-beams (well
darker in any what of earth spin) suggests
beaches, people checking eggs, ‘the’, bindies.

‘for’ inside & roasting a mallowed question
life is foxy. just one pash in the blanket
graveyard of yet to do of pastel insinuations.
if miracles eventuate maybe begin to sketch
your dog in the nude glancing away. our worst
opposites got less different in every ashbery poem
certainly long recipes gyrate. i’m gone shouting
intractable slogans to wagons on the country road &
technology has a demeanour. go fuck yourself.

.

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