our muse is alive, the sun is as alive as a
thriving hive this summer; a grip that never loosens.
Beach balls are kicked until they explode,
soon to write on a napkin through the voice of the
Prince of Wales. "A meditation on deep feelings."
Oil on the whales, earthly vomit, mopping sweat
off of my forehead. I took a deep breath
& inhaled a cluster of stars.
If nothing else, we'll encompass every theatrical drama,
flavorful recreations of mystery, like a wedding
that is interrupted by murder.
Never hush, hush, sweet crooning girl, your voice
could reap profits--copy & paste if you agree.
Benefits reaped, like ideas that are turned upside-down.
I'm careful to be seen, like Hyde;
emotional & overwrought like some Ennio Morricone score.
I twist in this chair, the night remains muggy,
mugged-heat simmers like a POW camp.
I never settle like a sea-bird. The air of our era
is as squalid as impure wool. I ruffle the wings of summer.
The silence is broken by whooping & yelling
that I hear coming from the backyard. Again, the neighbors
& their backyard barbeque Broadway plays.
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