billyfivecrows

medicine show


May I use
The room
You've

Unknown?


Tactical light. Town
Is distance smashed
By a surgeon on a
Voyage. Distance

Is a town without
A suture, all of
The frowns flow
Out and around, the

Smiles. Miles, you see.
These are more like
Peripheries, unusually
Centered like circumference

Based on a stretch of
Empty arms. I bit
Through the glass I was
Spying through. I knew

Of a skull standing like
The belly of a spider,
The rider of a ceiling
Above a well-made bed.

The illness of room is
A change not emerging.
The room of illness
Is lingual eyes

Mispronouncing muted colors.

There is a purple organ
Like a blossoming aiming
For a coppery light. There
Is a coin in the heart

That pays its way.

There is a pastoral haze
Scalpeled from a maze.

There is life.




(Wondering what kind
Of roof I've made. Would

Make, could
Make.

Should. Cups

Of water, the boards
Of
The
Porch are

Dead. I am

Not

So

Still...)