Thursday, August 11, 2016

Of times around

in the grass, languid and laid
bodies showered with sun
bleached torsos stark in
conclusion and consequence
sordid eyes slowly roll
to meet and pant and chat
the head holes greet one
another indifferently as
in life so too now in this

the slap, whether on which
pair of cheeks, the result
yet the same in chiming with
that early morning crow
to pass from sleep to wake or
however the sequence flows
out of the brain, out of those
indifferent rolling head holes
the blackbirds find so tasty

from bloody battlefields and
sweaty bedrooms and musty 
caves to windswept cliffs and
saturated depths and any ole 
locale worth coming round for
to lay down a bet or more
and lose the copper on a race
with a train, the sterling on
a needle of tar, or even the 
gold on a fight with those
indifferent rolling head holes
the blackbirds find so tasty

and the addicts line back up
as if the 382nd time will do
in these shoes or hooves or
damn deep roots diving down
the must can be questioned but
the need never answered in 
pondering sun circles and 
disappearing clouds from
the grass littered with those
indifferent rolling head holes
the blackbirds find so tasty




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