history of the narrator
two dollars a minute to breathe:
dollars you can take out of the verbs where
a team’s erecting a new barrier to let me escape;
minute droplets of ink and honey have started
to form on your time together—but just remember, this is your time off !
breathe now, and the vocalizations ignite
history of the xmas tale teller
pinned in by eyes but trying to see:
in the gloaming, no wait you don’t gloam anymore, do you?
by the waters that babble right off into
eyes crying with dry time & mica glint semi-lights, --
but still feeling the snow flakes cut, inside a core,
trying to agree, w. some of the arguments,
to drink a famished illiteracy. . . .
see, these are seasons where they sell us, and we buy breath back,