I drink
to keep my steam
I blow a trick
watch me light
like a dynamite stick
along the borders
of our confined
and faded memories
I sit on the shoulder
of an endless highway
but there are no free
ways
O sublime and calcitrant death!
I am lost in a thousand sequined,
drains. Swallowing the milky water
of freedom
Though I miss the short,
flailing tongues
of a minister's dragon
at the pulpit of Cimarron
No comments:
Post a Comment