You sip air, no beard & an oldman bandana, & lean back
real cool. I consider you the way a leaf thinks in the stinking
daytime: No one, creature, suffers from the shutmouth
& I almost refrained from jumbling your flesh whose casual
mouth's coy rooting rivets a weeping skyscraper in me.
I've lived outside this city for too long & everything
here is empty in the glaring scope of sun & fat vapour
from a gas tank. It is septic so bury me in a bar just in case
I booze to the end of the west & transmigrate nowhere.
Created: Apr 08, 2014those_sibilants Document Media