recollecting collections projecting selections injecting protection infection dejection
dyslexic narcoleptic rejecting dejections ******* complexion complicating interjections
perplexed inspectors intercept pterodactyls relaxing in backpacks extracting disillusion
contortionist philanthropist dejected transgression implementing eradications of moss buying patrons
eclectic perfectionist rests limp-wristed whispering disparaging remarks to the wait staff
trombone percussionist impressed and impoverished gravelling wistfully mimicking Rickles
I sit half disheveled grinding my wisdom teeth feeling the fleeting muse sitting in disbelief –

The time of the shining of
Wind-summered grasses, has passed,
-To the lark-breast mottle-
The harvested skin of the
Senescent land

The candle-****** gutter of
Hurrying wing sees
The last of the coin
That was minted in thatches
Of deepwood
Of latticing bramble
Of crumbling eve.

The mourn of the Moorland
Has  feathered a will
With the clot of the Ash,
Where a heather of cinnabar
Freckles the splash of
a simmering tarn

As gravelling Easterlies
Peel the cling of
The verdigris fades,
Some twilight of sepia
Musters the pastel
of Wintering calm.

Old Communist Movie Director

From the Criterion Collection

The object now of film-school interviews
His gravelling, decades-gone voice echoing
Into a recorder his decades-gone news
How wonderful he was, and all-knowing
About Thuh Fascists, Thuh Workers, and Thuh Jews
Hugging his resentments, and loudly crowing
About the Blacklist through his smokes and *****
How bravely he defied the Rightists, going
In exile to England on a luxury cruise.

I’m always gravelling at your feet
The rose that I rose from concrete now has no time for me
In my depression there were wild emotions and I had to repress them
Struggling not to fall apart in front you
When I was the only person you could come to
Fear that I would explode and say things just to get at you
However I’m not like that no matter what happened I still be right back
That’s why I’m here now just for some closure
I have seen this scene over and over
In the dark waiting for part two however I feel my whole life is a wasted play if their leading role isn’t you.
Us on pause but not my emotions and honestly I’m going through  the motions trying to figure what did I do to deserve it
Tears down my eyes
As you look at me and me tell lies
Then I tell those lies to a mirror
To myself hoping that my vision of you would be clearer
​

Evelyn whispers to her plastic cats
That they are all girls
The boys come in sheep and piglets
And hide under cardboard, gravelling.
She likes to crunch the kittens into
One section of the many
In the title play case
“Kitty in my pocket”
That I bought her.

Love Grandma ***