_Fear & Swans Itch_ [ 16 ] by John Lowther


Tossing each at the wall to stick, swans to balm us

To smithereens, balm the capital the columns the

Whole façade. Rear town went into a skid, the front feels

Grating on my liquorice black drive. Hindquarters has

Been alerted. Theory won't refill the cup.

The Magdeburg Spheres await in rubber stamp.

Pains of twisting in nether lands. The appeal to waiting

& a look of comfort that the analysis is in the future

Hicked up on speed and scratching swans behind cans

Plugging their ears with rice. Wearing the suit but

Cleaning the sludge out of extra hotels in the linen room

Close it, shut sheets out just as soccer chants start out there.

Balm it all and scratch me like you mean it.

1 comment: