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Nov 2016
In suspended cotton glow,

My ****** architecture wondrously

waits permeated with the hollowness

Β Β that comes with mind's dissolve in love.

(Even the birds read ***** politics and would rather hold wings to a drastic shift in light as appeared thru the nest and branches so connected with foggy earth
&
Even the jesters who's knees ache with
Lost children resolve to speaking Poems to the Forest who have not forgotten June's princely fever
& Even the cynical italian officer
Who's briefcase molds behind his arched
Brittle spine can relate to the fullness of
His daydream
& Town Hall accounts for each passing hour
& Taxicab antlers offering welcome thru its veiled windows do keep the radio of India praying)

I am finding more and more used condoms on the carpet of anonymous rooms/

But at least the refrigerator is stocked with Wine!
Connor
Written by
Connor  27/M/Montreal
(27/M/Montreal)   
320
   Andrew Name
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