One pristine something learning burden
jumped off with alcoholic mascot kids
as to go shooting without getting
shot, and she,
anybody’s keeper, on home
runs from Jackson to the hook of a dream
she did not have.
OK, his is a chorus, a second evening
back to the tumble sometimes
and lyrics made to go beyond summer
or plain forget epistemology
for majestic kitchen expression
or footholds on what mountain’s about to begin
He cannot mean the cold
they felt in Caledonia
sorrow – I got book hits and dark and said
sweet autumn passageways
The alley sniffles on flags later equipped with rows
of
houses, laundry hanging on lines between
them, formal sim-city yarn from
large balconies off the front of each floor
One line was from this large plastic
church pipe, dreaming guerillas and sky on
hooky blood and sighs for the city concept
Dumb stories, hands-on cops isolated the
shit out of folklore
And I was either observing myself here or else
a different ninja, the awareness that they were
supposed to be original, the lava friends
On the third floor a VoiceOver from the Shangri-La
it's a war, a kid belly bombs with bricks
Aries, Aries,
blades and drops every bank carnivore a Wagner
a nice sweater on the street below, a drag
For the want of a camera, his way of leaning
over the railing, terminally, with prophecies
corporate knuckles and labor
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