Red gold stroking strings
of Terra-cotta tocsin,
bounced a check today
and we wonder
will she rot in her cups?
How might we drink
all these donuts...
as a finger stirs the air,
her drum roll eyes...
time became tree limbs
of propaganda.
Why.
Cloud kissed
by hills
hemmed in
by patchwork stone,
a providence in Perugia
her cobalt dreams
strum gypsy wings
where
yellow fringed faces
follow the sun,
an itinerant balloon
tints the grass fucshia
then drifts away
to kiss the sky.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
Red gold stroking strings
of Terra-cotta tocsin,
bounced a check today
and we wonder
will she rot in her cups?
How might we drink
all these donuts...
as a finger stirs the air,
her drum roll eyes...
time became tree limbs
of propaganda.
Why.
Cloud kissed
by hills
hemmed in
by patchwork stone,
a providence in Perugia
her cobalt dreams
strum gypsy wings
where
yellow fringed faces
follow the sun,
an itinerant balloon
tints the grass fucshia
then drifts away
to kiss the sky.
