Wednesday, May 28, 2003

The Expiration

Son, soon days expire into flamingo.
Whether permits or not, the seed grows high
Through exfoliation and chemical.
Ask the lawn which particulars you desire;
Will grows but god is a toothless man, frayed,
And lapses into a second form of vision.

Grass, fine blades, pink and blue prismatics,
Erase gloom here in the condo, the box sent us
Over holiday cheer by nephews and grand kids.
Ask the day to be both night and day and
Expect you’ve asked too much. Kill this double life,
Bend us into graves of expectation.


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