Wednesday, April 6, 2011


This if from this morning--forgot to post yesterday's bit...will do that later on this evening

the signature is a new average

take to the hills with your walking and sticks
all the animals won’t bother to meet you here

nondescript pastoral experience gloats over
the film of your eyes, a reel burning there in the light

sing your favorite song quietly while commuters
also sing their favorite cursewords

god loves a man in shoulderstrapped gun
loves the angry carriage of noon

high-beams traipse across the median
as the warp-speed snow gathers brown

it seams onto the edges of the causeway
over these abandoned townships the sky limps

each doorframe a measuring block
for removal--what sound crisps

in the fame cage is not the youth gone wild
it is the lack of pinholes in the bottom

of a beer can that makes the liquid stable
and a whole case of ponies is calling

from the trunk and our better judgement
loses to the distances we travel

and where we set each heart is a trophy
and the land will get us there

we just need to erase our way through

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