Tuesday, September 7, 2010

strap on the underwater gear


ted gets punched hard in the face
late that night is drenched in black sweat
bleeding he pours through his telephone directory
it's louder than the trajectory of death

her name is there in brilliant marble
armless he calls her number. hawks poked out his
arms they travel through time now in packs
their shawls are made of wax i've heard

you know they were there because you were born
forlorn in the eighties everyone on this dude
ranch was made from denim the often
softest shades of blue

his hope fell through the face of the earth
birthed into the bottom of the world. this
an abundance of bricks
is what gravity predicts

2 comments:

Crack Baby- Recovered said...

I wanna be a big fossil but State law says I can't. Fucking Bastards.

Val said...

love it

val

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