45*21

the guile of mankind has no boundaries
we laugh with the meat hanging out of wet mouths
as we slam into the next decade
there is a traffic jam that lasts through the night
birds chirp. It is morning.
You start again & get the charity runs
Some say you have grown
a fish is simply a fish
an amphibian grows a lung
the pool ball slow on the slate
the green flesh of daydreams
why and why nots mingle in reflecting pools
turn it over and again
the master paints a slow portrait
the nose is a tangle of mangled flesh
a scoop of moon
mango sunset
building a ladder to another ladder
hinging the night to the daylight
a lounge where we sit and mingle
in a temporary light
that knows only back rooms