Behind dark glass a black eye or, frustrated in the green room, grease paint, amplify a horizontal exclamation point
A full house quiet hush of harmonics, layered waves growing impatient: steps climbed ironing out a standby of birdsong.
A cough from the orchestra on your brow a two day march from the border oscillating frequencies bunkering in just out of sight of eye-liner drawn to a point mapped cloud accentuating the sweep of the field.
Belief beyond a replaced six gallon in a shooting range in Sofia with two jerry cans and a singing lullaby grab bag from the basement.
Choose, choose to jump into clouds. How lazy we’ve become, masses moving as one tiresome as we retrofit stories we tell our children, calm them to sleep.
The elastic of our pants, loosened to wipe sweat from folds of fat that hang in we-shall-overcome smiles over history.
A call to arms, no, time for enemies for angels, a flame spinning out of time shot over the open sea.
The hush of petals, illuminations of fading hope folds last, darkness, a ship holding hands, jumping to escape certain to sink, loaded with mirrors reflecting.
That concrete should burn pregnant waves repelled, a causeway in unfocused eyes wide open, watching, a baby after birth, large nose, blue lips tight-wrapped swaddle working lose.