Wednesday, February 12, 2014

COMFY PHANTASMAGORIA

After a tired while 
driving—I find

a kind of pink 
and 
pleasant ring of light 

frosting—just the edges 
of the doughy sky

has been tacitly
making the slight-
est of blushing 
impositions on my pale narrow mind—

tinging another mute
slow
and dull-with-
cold morning commute

with—albeit disassociated
and abstract

thoughts of celestial 
roseycheeked 
cherub kids smiling—their wondrous eyefulls grown wide

with that particular
color of clinging 
hot sugar—that blazes forth from every 
even half-
way 

decent 
warm bakery on earth.

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