The goggles actor returned to welding, unconcerned
with all the syntax or traipsers climbing
rickety stairs with grocers up the poet tower. Weird,
like Planet of the Apes and yellow sky. All the climbing,
all the "I Believe I Can Fly" and spaceships. Where's
my art warehouse and who will I goggle at? And "all
dreams are weird, Mini."
WHERE ARE MY HANDCUFFS?
ReplyDeleteHi, do you want me to give, I have.
Have you "put in" some other bothered dream?
I woke up but it was the end of the poem.
I was over flying at the world buildings
Having put you in some other phrases
I was yrs, stuffed into the world
I was having the sort of "couldn’ts” you have.
We were out of that gypsy now.
Our chin was tired. The static helmet
throbbed for a dark empty nut.
All night we sat in a floppy grip
massaging the darkness into submission.