billyfivecrows

Does it all need permission?
The shedding of margins
The startled flowers

The transient expression
Of jubilation, the scar

Of comprehension.

The wind stammers
If sheltered, the

Party-colored bones
Ache in the grayness
Of "What you've done"

"What you've done"

What you've done

Is wave like a spinning

Fan, menstruate
Like a stone, feed

Like the pressing
Of one lip to
A satellite and

The other to the ground.

You love me and
The aura poses (Is

A humming dust, a powdered
Waltz in a whirlwind.

These are ugly things.

Little difference
Between practice and
Forgetting. There is

Clothing for the lung.

A little more flaw to the flesh, okay?

It can be brutal, all the deeds

And flexibilities. I stun the remark

And the drift meanders.



Toss the garland sideways...)