Bare-breasted this afternoon facing the Sun
northward
there could be more places for heat like this in homes
so shattered, their faces of malaise – a hundred days of gambol
boys in their sanguine shirts; the myth of sun
is truth of soul, or moon
clear vantage of something – neighbors leaving
radios wheezing in tetchy static,
dogs panting in dry *** lawn the verdigris,
the marauder in the market, all moving towards
even sounds shorn out of the daily are pure:
the prattling neighbor again back in the foyer,
the revolution of an old van and the dismay
of a septuagenarian, the harangue
of a mother, or somewhere, the marching of
soldiers shot dead – sun’s always painting pristine
the milieu, so we can see now past the papers,
the truthfulness of atrocities;
there came by you,
in your full brightness, blotches of sun – untouched
by the heat, you’re passing and passing – in transit, nothing is snatched
as the neighbors beat through.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
Bare-breasted this afternoon facing the Sun
northward
there could be more places for heat like this in homes
so shattered, their faces of malaise – a hundred days of gambol
boys in their sanguine shirts; the myth of sun
is truth of soul, or moon
clear vantage of something – neighbors leaving
radios wheezing in tetchy static,
dogs panting in dry *** lawn the verdigris,
the marauder in the market, all moving towards
even sounds shorn out of the daily are pure:
the prattling neighbor again back in the foyer,
the revolution of an old van and the dismay
of a septuagenarian, the harangue
of a mother, or somewhere, the marching of
soldiers shot dead – sun’s always painting pristine
the milieu, so we can see now past the papers,
the truthfulness of atrocities;
there came by you,
in your full brightness, blotches of sun – untouched
by the heat, you’re passing and passing – in transit, nothing is snatched
as the neighbors beat through.
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