A lazy muse igniter thumb.
Follower gun. The poet handshake sound
to seek the seeker,
my sardine scale,
my salty kiss or sex for breakfast
Henry, my masculine aesthetic.
Who said that? Those horizontal rains
keep slain us to the morning tethered
we to meaning. First the mercy then
the cruel, the sexy co-eds Guns N’ Roses
singing you the giving, the going down,
Oh, Henry, are you stopping by?
See comets massive grapefruits gypsy through the sky.
Hollow passive spleen to ways of seeing,
hard the city when you shout
the winter, hate the cold and was I rosy-cheeked
and preening Colorado mountain snows,
but we’ve been cold before.
A crate of lacking mental loops and that
I want you, write you in me, my heart yet
written astonishing, but various unpeopled.
Henry here, lie down elate beside me.
I’ll tell the elk story, unless
of course, you’ve heard that one already.