where yet i may stumble to?
the cobblestones of home where the morning bell may toll,
the ports of Mayander peeling clementines with
ebullient fingertips amongst seas of separatists aligned parallel to the
drones of lesser existences-
the philistines skipping down sidewalks drawing hopskotch with chalk,
the peasants practicing alchemy turning reveries into feigned memories-
i may tumble yet near the meadows of magnolia, acacias, etceteras,
we may walk out near salt mines kissing anywhere but the lips pressing
sallow yet vivacious tongues down each others throats-
where ever i may go,
eastward west or home,
my head may swell in the spring of fervent thoughts projecting a pallid countenance across my cheeks and jaw, but i will rest, you know,
sleep i will,
in beds of feathers, flowers, or
sinews, marrow, or-
this sort of rounded a hump in the middle which was great sensation

"I'm a philistine."
"No, you're interested in books and things."
"No, I'm a philistine."
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me