Blinking

Monastery monochrome,

boom balloon machine, and oh,

diamond rings and gutter bones.

Marching up some mountain,

with our aching planning.

High and smiling,

cheap drink,

dark and violent.

full of butterflies,

the violent tenderness,

the sweetest silence.

The clay you find is fortified.

We felt some focus fade the line,

the sugar rush,

the constant hush,

the pushing of the water gush,

the marching band.

When April ran,

may June bugs fly in.

Here you go around, Mary, in your famous story book.

Β 

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