Thursday, April 14, 2011

Disappears just white enough

Hey, if I cover up my shirt (bright Orange)
no one could see (but it's cold or it seems to be)
clear and wispy cloud sky disappears just white enough
to obscure god, like my glass (I washed) only to pour
some milk, (it's neverending that cycle of human understanding;
it has to be washed/someone ought to wash it/drink it) left in
metal tasting gray sink to wash and rail on stainless steal,
a dog yelps under clever powder blue somewheres past the dryer pipes
and unused chimney grave yards, I hope he's okay invisible...
I change and remnants remain looking up at me, bubbling,
thoughtless-- I'll take a page from the book,
look it over, plaster it on the sky wall, the deep horizon pillowman,
the America that keeps on rolling, the text that reads like water,
silently waking toward better mornings

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