Redless black morning chimney mount;
a two-dimensional relief
stamped on white-blue sky.
With ventilated hat,
in brick composure
the ragged outline of domestic industry
stands upright, dormant
while altocumulus float beyond,
sunrise igniting their pink.
Midnight lost its magic. The parties decease without happiness just Boredom. A skinny, unwashed boy yells at the wrong windows. He'd serenade her if he could find her. Doesn't matter that he can't since any other window'll do
A cold polished stone lolls on my tongue. I curl the edges, rolling the stone to the center cradling it in a sway of undulating taste buds. My tongue spoons this sip of scotch, rolling it like a flaming dollop of viscous honey, down my throat-- yellow and round an invisible note of buoyant Bosch.
The barroom takes a breath and speaks: opium laden jazz horn wails! the many shadows hide mumbling–ghosts of patriotic hobos, while the next generation takes hipflask shots of schnapps and aspartame. a freckle-haired girl at the table, face down in a pool of of red wine and plumage. outside: snack sized cellophane tumbleweeds dogfight in the parking lot.