Notes

Tampered with painted backyard rock and dead bird

And that wasn’t the birth the first was about wood and collectiveness
And then I agreed
We will push forward

And REVEL

While our decay blooms.

Man they would hate me.

Paper by paper
we smite
down down
nervous flight

Doused sprouts
Peppered rug

Among stones and sand we grunted our way through ouches and ooooos
Brutal hunters spilling blood around gathered wooden slabs crackled by pretty
Dancing flame.


‘Pound O Sword’ [not finished, not working on it]

Two sat atop high mountain, pinked clouds sliding
Across the first light of the peeking morning
Whirling up a breakfast fire, pans warmed
They sent for bloody meats, warm wine, aged long
And watched fawn and doe about tall timber
Before they filled their gut

The sun filled itself
undivided by its abut horizon