Departure — to sleep at long last;
the fence has lost all sense of self,
in a cordial frame,
pitched high looking outward,
outstretched limbs of independence,
unexpected superfluous
beginnings and endings,
the ultimate dismay of a crimson dance,
its sweet cinnamon
semi-amenable disposition —
finally.
The tired roots of sacred grass,
my third place yellow ribbon torn;
strewn about where daisies lie.
In trade;
bliss cannot outweigh the
balance of night,
cuts into the morning,
the mighty afterthoughts of my
second moon,
sniffing around under loose
unattended sentences,
mystery words and verses,
overbearing metaphors,
crying out loud,
spraying spittle with rebel’s pride,
like my drunk uncle.
