THE MAN I MET ON THE STREET OUTSIDE THE SEVEN ELEVEN

From entire hearts, and their values
totally falling to, toward
or backwards, all of the wards
actually. The state is just a character
really, for real. Maybe a mode of view,
totally passé, total raisin, the bar
to department, to the gulag. Come over
and I’ll make you a soup. Bring a movie
for us not to watch. Wash the sand
over the beechwood floors. Word.
Wash my hand, no watch it, it is
brushing by your eye, your apple,
your lower court appellant, your
head on my shoulders. Your convenience store.

This entry was posted in language(s), poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s