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

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