scatter clots

the painter throws stones strung in spiderwebs lands in cobs suspended over a lake of black moon dissolving in blacker ripples plunge deep into the cool emerge lacking light strike a match lick flames with your tongue hug trains with your arms scraping the tracks pulling gravel along in a red basket handkerchief filled with dust smacked against the road leaving breadcrumbs and knives smear the world in black and white corners frayed ripped at the seams pressed flat and held when should have waited for something more the choir sang hope shone in their teeth as they chewed their words spiting the juices into the air chandelier tears burned holes in the night burst into day needles threaded holes through day pulled and ripped holes back through the darkness and pulled it tight reached out into the thread wrapped arms in arms and wanted less and was given green buckets filled to the lid dipped in a brush like candy coated the rotting log like candy and painted stripes onto it too peeled them back one by one and poured pellets into the socket compressed and pressed out the best raced and nests fell from the sky or the leaves trees cried before they bleed hold a pocket out catch its seeds soaked in soot sent back from the garden leave it all behind wrapped in swaddling memories wandering serenity scenery change steel steel steel tongue cold and running  but still broken melt and soder sober sadder saddles lead the way out of town back to the flower holds the rain in its cup broken butter battered better burst bust and bread setter leapt from the fire house webs spreader heads shelter rubber button bounced redder pressed silver kissed hilts of whisks and trinkets overlayed and overpaid on the lawn candy coated coaxed in rooters rudders steer the whistle blow harder pretty pony gallop fast the magic hack laid out like a picture and as pretty as kissed and hiltered hindered by hints all spent and given up like ghosts


TWENTY-SEVEN JULY TWO-THOUSAND-ELEVEN