Thursday, May 1, 2014

SHAKY CAM

Rain or shine or 
harsh or mild
or spring or 

sometime otherwise—either way

appears perfect-
ly fine 

to looming companies
of dark 
birds colonizing 

thoughtlessly above-
ground 
power lines—strung 

along in whatever 
noon or gloaming

gloomy suburban
landscape is showing—that 

our poet's noble 

spirit first rose
then chose 
to unmake—only 

now can't seem 
to quite rake-
up—the scattered circuitous

contents of 
his flaky mind in.

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