45*21

gray green rimmed sphere
Wilkum and the patterns
that adorn your skirt
when is there trouble in numbers?
when they fold in
and some say when they hear god speak
the rain gets in the bottle
your own human insecticide
the plane and the candle ride
In the cave they invite light
into a kind of blackness
no one describes
car spins on a cartoon oil slick
we get greased by slow design
why others might get caught
in a middle amplitude
pull the shades and look
deep between
crevices in a mirror
that drips out life by the ounce
so there we are tuning our find