Huff off, left out wading
pool. The silent slipping
sounds of the dew; "is
so humid." Lights hung
out cautiously, but awkwardly.
Drooping a little around the sign
of my party.
No even numbers between
the rungs; listing, but
calling them anyway,
Here, watch them come
running up hill. Sun down
beyond them ravishes
the edges of their silhouettes.
But they're ugly when
come out. In the way
all real people are ugly.
but it fades. Noxiously
someone brought boom
box and's playing Ace of
Base. Your golden locks
tossed raucously in end
of night, and blades cross'd.
No, trust to the old
spice merchant, the
stuff of splayd tentacles,
bubbly curtains, hung low.
We've got books, and
when one finds them
a sound of falling books
is let off inside the house.
Knocked over barbecue
grill, by the garden hose
makes a shrill ringing sound.
Two playing ditch
who know's which
