By All Indications, She Arrived Intact (2)

Blue-sky boulevard and green sea
the one route (bus) glides interface,
shivers, rumbles, diesel spent
over miles, concrete, reflective paint.
Asphalt ubiquity and texture,
time In the lapse pluperfect (pre-past)
mythos method enter intermission;
pretense insects intersect intent,
awhile underground submarine
evading memory and probability,
cache come, caught, and cursory.

[Must update my news reader, Seven thinks
to himself as he pushes smudges around
the dirty screen of his smart phone.]

To the land rust/lust and sand soft,
where wind at her shoulders rustles
fair hair and song lucre lend
barrow sail, AC generator sparks
gap consequence and ghosts,
stagnant sweet sweat repose.

Heckle, Jeckle, and Leopoldo
on the wind wing wander
the lackadaisical largesse whisper
wisp zephyr black coat, black
eyes, and black heart, vilely viscid,
alight airless on scrub scrap’s edge.

Waves ripple, crash, and swish
Love and machine wash mécanique,
repeat cycle cylinder certitude
syncopate certificate and synapse,
snip, snap, tap, clack, and click.
Call yourself on the phone, anodyne
methadone, nirvana-done make believe.

[Seven (VII) sips the tequila,
then two full gulps of the hops, dank.]

Click clavicle clavier clear enough
penumbra pale ale aberration piper,
calaboose less than cold and less
than full ice melts as ice often does.
Cuticles consummate in colors captivate
rich skin tones and chemical cure
while chills challenge ceaseless slack
and boots befit their fetterless feet.
Dreamers do the same as they always do,
sand castles under hat in a potato sack
or flame on sticks to not pick up quick,
existential bits and trick tar/-bytes.

Nicotine null bee stumbles at sunset,
so back on the one (bus) route recruit,
reality in the verity veracious spin spun
spent wink wonk recall peck probable
pollen to honey to pollen to honey echo
blossom myth of insects in perpetuity,
and (repeat.)

[“Hello,” VII says as she bumps him with her large case
while sitting down on the stool next to him at the bar.
“Sorry,” she blushes and stuffs it at her feet.]

This entry was posted in Book 3 Beta, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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