45*21

oh lasting alacrity
or you might say
what's the use
we are in the horn of worms
and it's your turn to ride
bear
the beefed up men in pinstriped
I jot down the time
clocks in the sky go a swoop
time to take a night stroll
in a virtual castle
or maybe cut off a finger
in utterance on nightshade
Climb the stiffening sleep cap
in a notched cider barrel
It's time for you to breathe
or escape breathing
it might be your choice
or not
but its gambling dice and saw dust