Little Vines 7/1/22

This week’s selection.

Sign on a gas station along a lonely road:
no clues no conjures no curios
no credit cards accepted

a row of washing machines
your pink bra flashing by the window
It’s like it’s signaling me

Engine revs Metal clangs expands and contracts
The beat of the shiny heart is relentless
The rocket ship takes off

how that hour
can be such a free-running sieve
that pre-dawn post-nightmare
talking in your sleep hour

The cold sunshine bears down on the open grave
The stiff breeze rattles the floral tributes
Their ribbons snap in a festive kind of way.
It seems disrespectful.

These quarrels. Their infernal high-pitched shrieks
Thud of thrown shoes. Smell of burning silk neckties.
Sizzle of a cell phone dropped in the bathtub. Again.
These quarrels.

4 thoughts on “Little Vines 7/1/22

    • Thank you. The world is full of events happening all at the same time, and sad mixed ludicrous mixed with peaceful snoozing. I like to write these as I think of the overall genre of them as millions of small pieces of life here on earth.

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