Sunday, June 26, 2011

What Enables Her to Fly

Animals like trails for the same reason we do: it's easier going. Nobody talks about God anymore, at least not to my taste. Slimming the Queen down is what enables her to fly. Grace, grief, a touch of grappa.

Shambling bears drive the barn dogs insane. The grape arbor at last gives up its shadow. Doll's eyes, buntings. Your sewing needle is my fictive seed.

What stage? We fiddled while talkative Pharisees challenged the resurrection's particulars. Lost in the tall grass, thus out of mind. Any patch is evidence of soul.

Same shit, same day. She built a radio and the first song they heard was Donna Summer singing what was it called? Sniped oil cans, cigarette butts and a single undamaged owl feather. A dream, a stain, a falling in love with you.

A stag for every ewe. Not everything in life has its counterpart in chess. I build websites for businesses that are meant to fail. The road becomes a mess once traveled.

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