When than spring April
draft of age hath
parsed to the root
value of all glaciers,
retreat man far south,
caves of Iraqi Qum
beach of South Padre
longen folk goon wild,
pills grim ages wrack
shiny faces every races
have got a friend in
Coke ’s the real / god
can’t see the folks
beneath the new faces:
breakers make white foam
(“semen of the gods”),
be excellent to each
another party on dudes.
In the conspiracy theorist's absence
-
Today, three cats lay down in the unmarked spot where S had always parked
his beaten up green van. He had names for them.
1 day ago
1 comment:
i like this poem. you should post more.
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