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Jan 2017
Star spangledgraciousness
An empty vessel
Yet not without its redwine
Red wine
& sourness of past inhabitants
The fog of Manhattan
Cries the whale of night
In a street of slurred bodies
& electrical heads &the; train is late &excusemepleasesorrythankyou;
& directionless/compliancy is for the agents who don't know rhythm i can speak the tongue of a sweatfaced
Painterman or
The kindly blind
Who haven't the time for soreness

Its all soupNmute screamin!!!g

"Ur dryer has been faulty /
The showerhead makes cruel sounds!"

My Beltbuckle healthier than
Leather!of my shoe (a horn from up the block)

Rosesmile lovely faces
Being uplifted by balloons &
Kissing hymns

(RedwineRED wine)

Impolite barter
Or 75 cents in Metro
Paused for Rodenticide

(green neon coffin)
Coughing neon green

(!!)


HERE is a wailingCannonBall
Creating a space of drums
And dancing or microphoneAAA

Golden cloud & dripping halo
Words cannot hurt these saintly scenes
of a
Light caught in the rain
As mist rises u p
From my fleecy walk
& protest sirens orchestrate
SUNSET tape
/X and O/
               Do not mind the slipping
               Metal
               Or poorly-tended meadows coming up thru
               Hairlines
               ////////////###
      Transmutable
      Grains to cigarette ash
      Rolling daintly upon the marblefloor
      I have seen scholarly tearjerkers
      Preach about the elevator
      Blinking the signal of the soul
      Holy(soul)
      And potplant lids
      Fantasizing of Mothers
      To shoeshine their world
      A (         eniwder

"hellonothankyou"
    "AfterallthistroubleIwentThrough!"­)
Note of
Myself put into the hardwood of

The blunder
Of thought itself

For a fool beneath a bridge to find
& smoke with aching feetNplastic
teeth
Speaking plastic musings to

The plastic of the falsely opposed
Withdrawn
And unable to prove why this country hates them so much

(which begs the question)
Candles keep to the museum of headaches & irony

I keep to this narrow night under the
Attic of West 3rd

Wishing for a place to rest easy
Except these foreigners slam their

Quiet fists to the map of New York City instead
AhOkLetsBePatientPuh-Leese

This sort of passion for
The stone and it's
many
Bulbous radiant
fingers
While simultaneously
Brushing them away with nervous laughter
Can only be caused by

Spending too much time at the beach
Reading playwrights.
for E.E Cummings

New York, 2017
Connor
Written by
Connor  23/M/MSH
(23/M/MSH)   
477
 
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