the trees

[the mingo]

The blown heritage has become a lagoon
a place of loose fit jeans & driftwood nouns
uncertainty men & unpointed women examine the case
but can bring no honor to the low ground -
a walk along the lost question yields only water
& best the window brother can do is suggest
a pastime of porn among the road sisters
whose hair reaches to and ends in remember
Seeing the dead is possible on the island
but only in words
Warm danger lingers full of fast trust & surprise looks from the living
It's sudden these trails begun by others where I expect
to carry along what they left off & even though it's been but a short while
I'm sure there is an addiction in it
With much affection I hope your dress to be my grave
which will be made honest by your standing there unalarmed
as your fingers hold paper journeys you have folded
as gifts for the trees

[dadio]

[stilltrucking]

karma tracks
browser cookies

first thoughts for what is worth my window brother

poem as usual
thanks bro