a sometime inversion of, and general tweest on,
Graham Foust's "Academy Fight Song"
At the corner of the pink hour, the pink hour.
Pink again. One less pink.
Did I mutter lessening pink, pink hour
vanished? All of me--more than
my brokeass back--says hell no.
Days recede like Zen garden rakes.
Bursting illegit, I'm given away
there by a hair. Could gulp
an ohm. Could spit
fake wonder
right here. The conditional
secretes glue,
slowly dries. I gave away
telescopes in the smog.
No comments:
Post a Comment