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June is dead-still trees converse with other language mocking the trilling of birds. North of here there is a visitation. Virgins are being transferred all Monday housed in foreign homes. Oregano perennial, ingrained on roof beam the rise and fall of, a languid mirage outside much less than an inveterate superstition. Past the bridge where I once laughed as a child when my father surged past ploughed fields. this almost overtakeless summer minting its blazing core and now rivers cut this town. The derelict nectar of youth, how lovely it was the first time to pierce through age, an arcade   rising from the carrion that was our birthright under the throbbing heat. Who touched what to turn room into bedlam – slowly, these evincing hours paint me the grandiloquent picture of all when the moon a foolish assumption under a rain-soaked grassland moist enough for crickets, venue for frog hidden somewhere, outlined by a cadenza, us, humming along in our cast-off night clothes, meagerly this climate tumescent in this town.
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May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC
Then there were rivers
June is dead-still trees converse with other language mocking the trilling of birds. North of here there is a visitation. Virgins are being transferred all Monday housed in foreign homes. Oregano perennial, ingrained on roof beam the rise and fall of, a languid mirage outside much less than an inveterate superstition. Past the bridge where I once laughed as a child when my father surged past ploughed fields. this almost overtakeless summer minting its blazing core and now rivers cut this town. The derelict nectar of youth, how lovely it was the first time to pierce through age, an arcade   rising from the carrion that was our birthright under the throbbing heat. Who touched what to turn room into bedlam – slowly, these evincing hours paint me the grandiloquent picture of all when the moon a foolish assumption under a rain-soaked grassland moist enough for crickets, venue for frog hidden somewhere, outlined by a cadenza, us, humming along in our cast-off night clothes, meagerly this climate tumescent in this town.
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windsor-i-guadalupe-jr
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windsor-i-guadalupe-jr
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC
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