Friday, January 18, 2013

Flip Side

Itself a glower, as though the propulsion
gave off a golden mist over the East River, I sleep.
Then a crust develops over my eyes and the water
looks gray from the heights of a red brick building.
These long miracles dab salve and primp days
so as to be less calcified and more impulsive.
Driven by a driver, outside the arboretum
are the samples of the soil, leaden and infested.
Glow-worthy, timber counts a mix of both
faint jingles and sun. I am going to walk,
and take a walk, and in the future: I'll walk.
These lovely cascades make for the dedication
of heave swells and brown scraps. What a page
can do is make you want to scrape it, all blank and curt.
I'll muster up the will to will myself
another round, no, the one I'm in fits around
my body. I'll live in the space provided, alert and motoring.
Flip side, there are probably people
that I know doing the same thing right now.

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