Bedbugs III

Bedbugs III


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Tell me about hatching and hating earthen jewels
wrapped in amber as well as understanding
where my mind might doggedly go. There are
few times in my mind's opera where mattering only
to those who heard it. Clocks don't work here.
Sound is light here. Air between dust that fragments
into pools the old man knew wouldn't take him any
rotting Fall leaves in corridors to bring home
to an earthen homestead. Winter's end doesn't
mean anything to me. Make be believe there's
a reason for the palette I was left with.
35,000 years is what the moods feel like sometime.

Looking away in photographs or webbed reflections she
wants nothing to do with...Getting darker, saner
now, just as expected. Don't talk when confronting
your disbelief.



Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:



-tin rattle
-adipocere
-first names are sewn together
-planning to die, or write, in ten year's time
-rust-proof, until you get it home
-first kiss last week
-intention of where to go

-Adam

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