Three days from there, milk and broken wood
they is to hint a smoke and fire and trace
the broken sprig like life flowers dying and done
when the lettuce leaf is to flood in November maybe,
before the rain and frost, I can’t think of much more
that moss covered shells on beach bathed days.
Sunshine opens hearts like windows of forget me not -
I am any slight life, eager in dangerous rite! Spite
touch the heavens, fender strap the rubber dancing under wild woods fork belted lines and seek the shudder man, camping out like a danger joy, eek, they shriek and die they do down the dumb of bluster and shame and
forgotten in a doorway, pain is a humble man. I think not
of forgetting the last, with time I am dust like you.---
