Maybe I don’t have enough to fill these
days, I mean pages, I mean, I do that
bit a bit too much but continue to
hope my pen can cobble some minor
magic as this glamour lately is
sea ice in February as I fail
to get the cheese out cleaning another
dungeon as the prophecies foretold
and then a tune but so softly I
must pay close attention or they
are lost as the kingdom slowly
dissolves in thin smoke debt and need
but the dog seems to like it she
gets to go where she wants and when
Tag: pages
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no matter how many pages, this, sitting in your chest and tomorrow, well, we can’t leave it here, not with his allergies, and like the art of conquered people, the distant clouds, what’s the word for a menacing sound in the distance, of course this is hardly a proper sendoff, still, the heart, and in his pockets the crumbs have pockets, though listening to these books won’t put groceries on the table, and the trees stopped blooming so suddenly, as if tipped off about the whole affair, sitting in the corner drinking water, as the poets of the anthology warned us about, and suddenly deer on the edge of downtown, this humid air and itch, and I lose interest in the delicate structure of the pastries, will you just open your mouth and say maybe
other animals 