A kite stuck and shredded in a tree that has yet to come into leaf, if you catch my meaning.
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like an ancient carved alphabet or breakfast free from human hands while this spark lasts whistle past new double glazing fit for middle management
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always wondering where to start but I’m always here so what was the question again some escape to range out over the hills note cannot even imagine mountains some people the fields and squares with manikins so realistic you almost see little clouds of smoke on a cold morning but the world is flat and without much detail apart from this pen and the shuffling of the dog occasional whiff of that cup of coffee and see I’ve fallen into my own trap and all the sudden there are things here in the world around this black hole
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dancing figures in smoke from the city of dry leaves in my chest
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through the night creaking subtitles add to the store of kitschy collectibles much like nothing in the cellar you can remember
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long shadows make
us giants in late August
a little cool mixed in just
enough to dream of
pumpkin falling leaf
crunch scent cicada
-less nights the full
moon through bare trees
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out of the limitless well but let’s wait until after the weekend’s fun to contaminate the seed cakes of our most recent obsession
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on the last page of the notebook
steadied by a thick
stack of New Yorkers
the pen
but the dog in her cuteness
the urge for coffee what kind of
is that a
the dishwasher needs unloading
and the heat flows out
from my fingers over
ever higher rooftops
other animals 