SUCCUMBS TO MIND

Crackle crackle crackle shouts the grackle in the sideyard

the broken birdie bustles in the frozen dandelions with our lions and our tigers

scratch our loins—start a fire in Sicily, huddle up next to me in the sidecar where you wonder why hours never amount to cloud-slicing towers

cut your cuticles with a butterfly knife, paint a hurricane only under the streetlight where night never creeps and hoodlums know not the number of their sheep

‘cause when a wolf howls it calls for its destiny but never questions what have I done to ever be blessed by thee arrest me instead of testing me every once in a full moon when I chew all I hear is boom boom in my doom room

can you grasp what this sounds like?

Not a beat but a murmur
Not free meat but a murder
A compass with no north to know
A rhythm with no end rhyme

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