Party in the little green van, where Janet will hold her head sideways and say, "one, two, what pretty eyes blue." You'll show her the dirt behind your fingernails to ensure that she stays away.
There are liquors glittering outside the window, and you bet you're in between minutes. In the wind, the time clock has no tail.
Pleasant people beneath the clock tower never approach the black dog with ill will, or else it will fling its teeth at the pigeons. There are roofcocks serving the better brigade. There are winners with splinters on the shelf for holding shelves.
I return to a red room of landscapes, a sad built tavern for lotly shoppers. The bridges keep holding the cars of the masters. Coffee slaves mop the tiles in the dark. There are roofcocks watching them intimately should they tongue milk from the floor. There are spies in the ceiling and spies in your shoes, and there you are biting biscuits and whistling at a high pitch. Has he been a criminal? How couldn't he be? To me he is beautiful.
28 Jul 08
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Great poem in its magically surreal realism
design & code copyright donald tetto
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