BLUEBIRD BONES REDUX

every typo

is a

town in wales

& theres

a monster

in my chest

playing hectic percussion

on the bluebird bones

blackmailing

the

sunlit uplands

where

the

hibernating mammals

hijacked my slumber

~

well the room is there

like a flat tires

rhythmic exhaling

& death is there

its back pages

condensed & lucent

in

a

twelve minute

drive thru

crematorium

&

the thin smoke of bones

is

forgetting itself

&

dissolving in glyphs

up there

in the grey bluebird sky

pic from reddit

BLUEBIRD BONES

every typo 
is a 
town in wales

& theres 
a monster
in my chest

playing hectic percussion
on the bluebird bones

from printsvariete www.etsy.com

NOTHING TO HANG IT ON

weird b & b behind us-

the hologram sausage
that mysterious barn

~

we pull over & park up
to piss 
to roll smokes

wales somewhere

a beautiful valley moment

~

ankle shallow creek
busy on glossy rocks
stoic hills shoulder in

just how i would make hills
if i made hills

but 
theres nothing 
to hang it on-

i feel a space & need

effervescent valley vision
cannot grip & live

~

i was morning crust
i was wasted dawn
in undone boots
with undone mind

a soft sculpture with nothing 

to hang 

it on

from nerc-duress.org

FICTION POP 2, ANGELS UNICORNS BOWIE