Sunday, April 18, 2010


For Kicknosway

Dawn slips a tight grip.
takes the fist from the heart.
A late half moon cuts west
a crow or two, wrens and mockingbirds later.
It's a day, a bang of promise if only.
In the near distance, voices.
Is this a hoot or yesterday's whisper?
The walls say nothing.
You sip coffee, go over the news.
A few more dead.
A bomb in last week’s cereal ad.
Ms. Nipsy won Idol Monster of Tomorrow.
She smiles from the page.
Then it's a shower, the fix to survive.
You dress for said occasion.
The red carpet sweeps just
below the prefrontal lobes.
You step out and the sun nods.


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