Twenty-three Days

Hopelessly subject to what has been deemed
Rallying against the force decided
The rains came to dampen the picture
And entwine the thought delivered.

When the truth deserves to bear light
The bold, static and leaded clouds hinder
And glimmers are grasped in introspection
Though hardly diplomatic and justified.

Number three, the shuttle planed and
Peeled the atmosphere of the countless streams
Swollen and gilded, the contents
Brimming
And bitter
And human.

TarMacAdam

Through the homes of France
and upon which I gazed.
A mammoth journey across tonic land.
Where black butterflies laze
and only wheels turn.

An insincere assistance to walking
Is fabricated and lonely.
It is this journey I have not known
In my previous life of homely
Mice and men.

Black butterflies and I.
In the torn, scarred, and living land.
It is unreal and sprawling,
And clutching the beginning cland
-estine
(the end)
The manicure kissing
The ragged quick.