state of flairs, flight of straws

My abdominal balcony
So unrestful after your
Harbor shot riblocked my reminder to pee
Some chain and hook left
Sparking against the ground
Not matted or predictable
So revolutionary and firefly
Aggressively toothy and unyielding
All center top range top air conditioner top building top type and hammer
All ink and sink and oiled and slink
Leaving me to wonder
Whether coffee works
Whether anything works like it should
Except people that take care of their cars
And cars that take care of themselves
Those pious Jesuit four-doors styles
And cranky two-door kinds
Alas,
Old gentle bicycle on that same ledge
Pretending to host the Olympics
Or Tour de France
Or other some such non-encircling pattern
Behaving like a skull punch
You flattened me
Because I wouldn't submit
To something not alive
And not worth knowing
--
3.28.11

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