49

magpies scream into the
morning,mourning their
silverware    and semicolons

where they suffer cancer,claiming
personalspirit/u/ality through grit teeth & crumbs,
and coffeestained punchlines

'this is the transcendentalism of your fuckedupmind
                                                                     and not mine.'
- whispered the cobblestones

each night resisting drunks &
theories of individualrelativities

surfacetension and (fire)flies
children sown up with lies
punctured with topazbuttons
for eyes

the river slows into the lake,fleshy and pallid,