Who's duping who, in an age when stars go faster than the whirlwind inside?
His memoirs are made of trinkets he bought at shops no longer standing.
She lets herself go, oh dear.
Tip that bottle.
For the sake of four jugs, earthen
you're fighting my poetics again
but they stand the ground
you're crafting vessels of absence
but nary aware I am aboard.
Not ate, but confiserie a bit tart
and fruit, chilled
blood runs
a regular lil wriggler
buy on Monday, blow out on Tuesday
eat on Wednesday
what a party.
Those steeds run a full decade
mercurial harness
swings Pluto closer
the codger harps on his childhood
singing songs nobody knows
a lonely serenade to the forgotten
red eye rims behind bars, misunderstood.
Rejuvenated, new step.
On a halved expressway, I'm flying through
and feel alive!
