March 31, 2020

Something abstract,

immaterial assumption

bursting breathing

in color.

Rainbow eyes.


Wicked psyche

and the curvature of ink blots.

Associative breath in the ether

makes a murderer of you or I

or some passersby

on a street corner.


Breathe me into essence

or some feint vestige

of reality.

Whisper the world

to sleep.


Inhale lest

you asphyxiate.

Unsteady hand

of a jitterbug.

Jitter jitter and

fritter away


all that time you made.


Damn we’ve got a great gig going.

And that eternal eclipse

mutes the sky and

rainbow eyes.


I see the vague portrait of a butterfly

up here in the ink awry.


1942 and they decided

to lobotomize me for it.


Ain’t that crazy.






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