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paul-james-valhalla-clearPoems
Blown glass heartbeat, With an extension cord, the vibrations are distancing themselves, Between macabre and *** luck and **** luck- And affection- Are heirlooms cry of antique tears. San Francisco Chronicle: “Boeing kidnaps…” And my soul bottled up in an hour layover heist. Boeing adult-naps. Texas. Texas. Texas. Amarillo beehive hair across the aisle, smoke and honey. It stings my tongue, kisses my lungs, legs-crossed on the highest rung. The Miller High Life-esque, reclining on a quarter moon. Here we are, patience and mercy. Here we are patience. Here we are. Here.
0
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Written for David Ryan.
Blown glass heartbeat, With an extension cord, the vibrations are distancing themselves, Between macabre and *** luck and **** luck- And affection- Are heirlooms cry of antique tears. San Francisco Chronicle: “Boeing kidnaps…” And my soul bottled up in an hour layover heist. Boeing adult-naps. Texas. Texas. Texas. Amarillo beehive hair across the aisle, smoke and honey. It stings my tongue, kisses my lungs, legs-crossed on the highest rung. The Miller High Life-esque, reclining on a quarter moon. Here we are, patience and mercy. Here we are patience. Here we are. Here.
paul-james-valhalla-clear
Written by
paul-james-valhalla-clear
American
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
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