Tuesday, June 6, 2017

OUTBURST

Somehow, each morning 
through gunmetal 

clouds of my own
not-yet-knowing

which rage 
like mad over 

the tops of
of my shoulders, 

the clean 
hot electric

light 
of a thought 

will flash its effulgent 
and pliant pith 

setting
something deep in me 

rumbling sympathetically—
until eventually 

raining down 
hectic drivel 

in wet 
jazzy patterns—

when my mouth tries 
to mention it.

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