a balcony, a perch
some suits, two wheelchairs, a slew
of botton down shirts, the crowd
is swaying to
the eery sounds
of a thousand swords
being sharpened.
buzzing electrons.
alot of bulbs.
air pressure.
pews.
a regular easter without candy.
a real christmas eve without treats.
and a crowd?
my, my! and now some...
white-shirted lions!
ooo-ahh-pointy
teeth!
ohh-wow and claws
just like klaws!
isn't this refreshing? like syrup or roses?
isn't this wonderfully uncomfortable?
what a pulse
against tall tall windows!
drawn shades, bald, and careful mouths...
what a brilliant little pack of pathos...
such passion.
unexpected as chineese fireworks, love, money in old pockets.
where have you all come from?
the eggs are all found, the antlers are resting for now...
there's no candy.
only this floor of swords, two wheelchairs, this solitary sheep.
No comments:
Post a Comment