awkward things once thought
can be uttered can become
beautiful not all the time but some
then sentiment elides for my cover-
shot a cracked lamp a recurring game
of lonely landscapes (not to sustain nor
recur) but help it’s ‘pdf’ spoken aloud
no less than three times in a day &
bam no more personifying the years
like it’s 2009 like it’s also monday
in retrospect where it’s twelve dollars
for a pint twelve dollars to
wait for you & think
the scratched wooden pub
can come to be a threat confusing
the past & hammering the present
all images will become exactly
your eyes over glass like a 3D hologram
spied through the stained glass window
i can almost make out the ghost’s
disposition you’ll transition nicely
to a cute role without my involvement
or interest observation is measured
precisely in faded beaker marks
i mean i can write things & edit
then i’ll fall into a picture-like-a-painting
down a geo-cached alley again