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In Chorus, Exile and Love

.

You spend an hour waiting for yellow-gold to come.

To the evening, it will. Right down to cold soil, it will.

Your breath shows, ascending towards branches, a-hissing under an artillery of leaves

Shunting down the shafts of light, as it comes.

Yellow Gold stun your skin, blowing out color with a breath,

Simple, sweet brown gums trilling whistle.

The hour seizes up- and gathers atoms together to bust. Out with it!

Thrown stones form a barrier, accepting shadow

as a part of its design.

-------

We broke out of town and like shackles sawn off

I interred them, painted after Prussian Blue, and went

"To The Lake", Like Ludwig the Next.

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I beg you to upbraid me with suggestions. Take them out of your chest.

Complicated in attention, sifted through single holes in the weft.

You are a the only living dune,

In this landscape covered thistle.

Print INFINITY off on 3 sheets of Lavender paper, and let me know.

How do you speak of "one hundred years"?

IT sounds similar to "miss you, lovely"

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Oh broken song, singer and voice.

How do you speak of "one hundred dead voices"?

Why attend speeches done by them enemies, them hiding in the grass?

Watching every move, with Yellow Belts and Pleats

As if I couldn't see.

As if they could.

Thinking "friends", but understanding now,

Now showing the teeth now

Skulking away under dripping dark green.

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Worry not now, I would promise

Sent aloft "WORRY NOT" to the sky, pulling taut the string of a kite

Over the CITY and whole blue.

Where eyes sometimes turn, fumbling for a latch

Away from drinks.

Always phantom eyes, to me.

Still I hang it UP, declaring- "for he is SAFE"

From THE- same apartment-

You Will Make and Pass Judgement

You frail boys.

I have seen winter:

It will freeze you to death

To be this cold.