Junk Yard Quotes
The World is ours if
you want you can take it
Abuse tea
I’m a part time
You shut your whorish
mouth
Hey because I’ve been
on, my sweetheart bones sound track
The first Honduras
drive by
Dirt Road Anthem
Mmm Mmm Mmm, he said in America!
Only blue in America, special edition.
Most nights I don’t know
It taste like
everything you didn’t like as a child
The Styrofoam breaks
but the chicken doesn’t
I lit fire with the
love you left behind
Flaw stubborn
Salt and pepper afro
Toenails stay forever
The leaves don’t want
to lose their shadows at night
There was a dead bird at
the bus stop. I took a picture, wanna see? There it is, see. Dana said maybe it
died because of the cold. The blood splattered it’s lifeless beak.
He brought pizza and
bread sticks and let me keep the leftovers
Like a broken record
she repeats now I am at the point. Hand over chest
We didn’t know how to
dance to country, but we were shaking it
Make fun of my
gorgeous leg
Hand polish China
He needs no last name
I got in his pants
without him knowing
And some days I can’t
even trust myself
Brought me safe to
shore.. ships hips
Feathers and twigs
I guess I could count
the knots in the word again
It should feel a
little awkward
Make me earn my keep,
we have it too easy
It was a placeholder
I couldn’t get her
off my head
How to rip paper with
confidence
Stay strong stay
hungry stay alive
Keeps me sharp when I’m
getting dull
Conditioned to watch
you
Your bathroom, you
could probably private there
Not everybody knows
what’s going on
Don’t let the
bastards bring you down
In the end much of it
comes down to personal preference
Every time you wear that
sweater I just want to rub you, not in a weird way
And now one’s missing
Is anyone intended in
Each room decorated
by different famous
Switch to families
arguing normally at Christmas
Handle with care
Medicate yourself
through liter
You are the expert
You are qualitative
Really think about it
Ask people questions
Come up with
explanations
I’ve got it almost
Looking through old
photos and feeling great about my life, not really
Let’s not be that
predictable
There are moments when
Finished in 12-18 months
everything is near normal color Do you sleep with the fan on?
Don’t nobody cut crust off
bread anymore, we’re still in a recession. Don’t be wasting food.
Plastic sheets are on the
table. I am ready to split bottle of Pinot Noir
If I wasn’t raised right
that 60 year old woman would have just straight got cussed out
Skyline on a Sunday Afternoon
My voice is so deep it
vibrates my chair when I speak. I would hat if I didn’t like vibrating chairs
A patch of Velcro
I obnoxiously clear my
throat and then say nothing at all
They didn’t challenge him
I don’t know who they are
or where they came from but they have damn good work ethics
Glass objects
Carving hookers is greater
than carving pumpkins for Halloween because they just aren’t real people
Took peanut butter and
smeared the windows (Jiffy)
Shallow-relief
World on the walls
Scratched in order
Only the dead have
seen the end of war
It should feel a
little awkward
For my lover
returning to his wife
How to rip paper with
confidence
You can’t cut
balloons
Put your elbows up
she giggles
Her elbow diggin into
my skin
Hooks in her
IMPROVS
Medusa—Louise Bogan
Improv 1
The Cold Call of a War-Hero
I will never forget
that day,
The wave-shapes
measured invasive,
into and echoless ring.
The shift in the air
pressure
adjusting tongue and
lip
·
weaken, his
mother absent of words, understood.
The earth had to pause
to remember sun,
to accept rain
and organic toxins.
It had to child
his family, friends
and even the stranger
to hear his story
in the black and
white
business section of the
paper.
The world, a mutual
fund
a national conquest
of produce people.
We kill for
nothingness.
Women—Louise Bogan
Improv 2
Men
Men have narrow backs,
They are mainstream
pornography,
content to pacifier
lingerie lipstick
inside their lines.
They shape like cupcake
Merlot
Brand by the stomach:
“our body’s sold”
no consequences for
men.
They value minute
rice,
bling and booty
shaking
not trying hard
enough
to have a good pair of
jeans.
GQ sets the standards
As creators of such
less than human
complexion
turn into paper
crumbles.
Chaplinesque—Hart
Crane
Improv 3
“The tide that left and never came back”
We walk the streets by
four,
forceful against the
forward whispers
of banana nutmeg bread
·
once a favorite
grandmother
recipe, now economic
repeat.
She wants the
heterosexual child,
the knowledge taught
brag,
the successful Audi
now.
She wants tiffany
frost on her wrist,
she wants the sharks
to take her tome to
the waves
that crush the
earth into grains
of souls that follow
you home
and carnage the
wooden banister, scars
of childhood mind of
switches,
body twitches in
innocent play.
At Melville’s Tomb—Hart
Crane
Improv 4
Certified Non-toxic
October 6, Stone Wall
Street, Flux Night Atlanta
On the corner a man
with a vendetta mask
Asked me to coin
change but damned
Me to bequeath chaos,
He said:
“The paper print
birds,
words—
journalistic lies,
absorb oil.”
In the thick, mark
typeface,
tells the truth of
turtle necks,
scarves and scar city
tracks,
underground points,
Smeared cannabis
smoked mirrors.
I want to find my way
to you.
Ode to the Confederate
Dead —Allen Tate
Improv 5
In the fall the
leaves, leave
Behind the world. The
burnt
Orange crayons pick
the green
And eventually crumble
The Weary Blues—Langston
Hughes
Improv 6
First Sway, then
swivel
Then bounce, then
sleep
So below the sands curl
He matches the beat to
lead
Bleed words, tounged
gums
And aired vibrations;
A leader, a thirty
second
Sell, sold…
The ferr
The Negro Speaks of Rivers—Langston
Hughes
Improv 7
I’ve known woods:
I’ve known woods los into
the most advanced framework teak shadow boxed with purpose.
Life allows the outside
world a sketchpad.
I play in the reds—purple
hues of the Japanese Maple.
I handful the rainfall
yellows and garden in patience.
I strip bark and deeply
divide, the more popular, lacy shrubs.
I reflect heat in partial
sun, propagate quietly in late summer
somewhere, and hope
that every imagined problem change the behavior of young people.
I’ve known woods:
Twisted, branching woods.
Life allows the outside
world a sketchpad.
Theme for English B—Langston
Hughes
Improv 8
The top dog, the
freshman dictator,
It’s my year.
The year of the
Dragon,
Only because—it’s my
year
Trade mark my holiday
The scent of roasted
edamame,
Let the seapoint
perfect,
Let it curl like
ringlets.
I know everything.
Then I don’t.
I reduce risk
Of heart disease
Forget waxy blood
I’m oxygen-rich
Let me in,
We can go a long way
Learn the subtle
differences
of rhythm peak and
valley.
Yet Do I Marvel—Countee
Cullen
Improv 9
I have a faith, but to
what?
A book thin, weaker
than skin,
Ink formed lines that word:
“I shall mark
or disposition” A God?
Before this it was a
different narrative
Befor this scarring
of skin
Was a mother that said
“There are good
There are bad
Don’t be afraid”
The Hard Structure of the
World—Richard Eberhart
Improv 10
I once saw a possum
involuntarily give birth
Off Bethlem road,
some winter night.
She might have been
scavenging for food
To have been
surprised by the yellow lens.
Her marbled red eyes,
stone, sharp teeth
Her back horizontal
against the asphalt,
It was nothing I’d
ever seen before,
Until I saw the woman
The ’82 Buick blue
finish
Dissecting the
stomach, reaching in
And pulling out the
only surviving baby.
Missing Dates—William
Empson
Improv 11
Play Time, All the Time
On Tyus hill the sled could
no longer climb, The twigs and feathers were too thick For
children to famish time.
On the tree-top heard
a faint chime
A warning that town
was sick
And not even a mother
could flutter climb.
They are functioning
on “scene” time
Cutting wrist with a
flick
Dancing in sweaters I
just want to rub sublime.
In Memory of W.B.
Yeats—W.H. Auden
Improv 12
Pulling Weight
I wish my job would
stop feeding
me. I will never
reach my weight-
less then the camel
back store
milk. Thick curdling
milk, sick.
I want to be thin like
the garter
Around a stripper’s
thigh, high class
well paid. I want to
smear thick
censor lines about my
eye,
No not that eye but the
vagina
I have no respect for.
It’s depressed
Not even Channing
Tatum could dance
His way inside—Tatum so
much man
He’ll have his way with me,
eventually.
As I Walked Out One Evening—W.
H. Auden
Improv 13
As I Walked in One Evening
As I walked in one evening,
Into the limonite brain
games,
You sat there in the plaid
yellow grandpa
Jacket, coating your
burnt knee.
The carpet of the second floor closet
You and her, the size
two petite
Burning carpet for a moment worth
Jumping into the
Alaskan Ocean.
The truth is, not even the cold
Water could forgive
your vat coat
Heart, slowly yellowing to
purple
All for that burning
session on the floor
I turn my camera and there is no more talk
Only you and her scarring
at the knees Physically branding the slut and the cheat.
As I walked in one
evening, you
had nothing to say and
it said everything.
Musee des Beaux Arts—W.H.
Auden
Improv 14
I don’t even understand me
The knit sock master:
how well I or they understand
The marbled world
meeting connections
In San Diego. “Handle
with care” written
In ink across my wrist, and
I wonder what people think About the quality of my painted nails, if they, The
experts could see the boy who poured Sand down my pants ten months
prior or the Hispanic Girl that placed the earwig on my shoulder So
that it nest a life time of hate.
The experts want their
reverse psychology—
Medicating those who are fine
To live their lives against
the grain of concrete Those who recovered on their own Thos
who everyone wants to get in their pants now. The screams all sound the same.
Dolor—Theodore Roethke
Improv 15
Skunk Hair
Her hair looked fine
all brown
But now it’s topped
with blonde
And chocolately dark on
the bottom.
She asked me how it
looked
I said I needed a
drink, Bloody Mary.
I don’t like olives
I only like celery,
Can’t do olives, can’t
do it.
She asked me three
drinks deep
“How do you like my
hair?”
I said next time go
olive.
Wish for a Young Wife—Theodore
Roethke
Improv 16
Halloween Bum
I was fifteen when I
wanted to be a bum
So for Halloween I
tested it out.
On the ground I smeared the left over
Tuna black found in the
dumpster by my side, That I crawled into, looking for a plastic bag.
I lay on the ground
curled at the torso
Observing the passer
placing cigarettes
Spare nickles, and
Almond Joys in my bag.
What pity they must
have felt for me,
A fifteen year old
boy curious about urban
Life style under
highway bridges.
The Armadillo—Elizabeth
Bishop
Improv 17
Tera was missing her
third
Toe on her left paw,
Her fight against
cancer.
She was about 83 in
dog
Years when the wild
kittens
Birthed in the
backyard
She collected them on
her ribbed
Back, blanket them
with her failing
Fur and dry rasin
nose. She didn’t flinch
When the kittens
knead knives
Into her bruised
skin, instead
Licked their cheeks
and fell asleep.
Tera stopped eating
the hard
Mix from the Purina
bag
And requested my
plate
Her final days.
One Art—Elizabeth
Bishop
Improv 18
The little girl at
Clinton Farms is flying
A Dora the explorer
kite
Chasing the unspooling
white string, crying.
She doesn’t know at
twenty four
The white string will
take a bite
And this time her post
card is flying.
This time the boy is worth
trying:
The steady ink blots
are right
There are no more
broken phones, crying.
The Moose—Elizabeth
Bishop
Improv 19
Children Playing in Jordan Park
The moose on the oven
towel
Is burning on the
magnesium stove
And the house sounds
like and ambulance
And the children are
rolling on the ground
And the smoke is thickening
like London fog While London bridge is falling down.
Down, down, down falls
the house
Settled on top of Tyson
road.
Grandpas smoke pipe of
mild peppermint,
The color of the
photo paper illuminating
Spirals in the
fireworks, the burning house
The little girls lungs
are out of air.
Santarem—Elizabeth
Bishop
Improv 20
I was born with a
hairy chest
The month of jester
hats
The year of the
dragon
My life, generic
role-play.
I’m too lazy for a job
But I don’t mind
digging
The Burger King trash
For receipts for free
burgers
Or left over fries.
I’m a scavenger myself
A regular nomad
A top hat and
mustache
Kind of man. I like to
wear
My pants waist high
Shirt tucked in
Suspenders and a back
to the future
Hat 1988 made.
I’ll never grow up
To be a coffee
drinker
A watch wrister
Or a cubical worker
I like my hair slicked
To the left with one
loose
Strand standing
straight
Manhole Covers—Karl
Shapiro
Improv 21
The World didn’t End in a Break Up
When water vapor is
visible
The blood muscle is
vulnerable
The cover inside the
body bruises
At just the right
temperature
And though you can
not see
Through the purple
wrinkled cover
The redness is
gradual healing skin
And if he does not
call before the months
Have been too long
And the skin is near
normal color
Don’t let the story end
predictable.
Fall, 1961—Robert
Lowell
Improv 22
I hold this pen, it
moves around
The thoughts before
they exist.
I make a wish to hear
you sleep
Like lullabies you
make me weep
And in the night,
this lead
Does keep the secrets
in my head
Will leak and let it
bleed across the page
Let it sink into the
stomach
When you think of me.
Forget
Me if you can but I
know you won’t.
So watch from a distance,
I will take you back.
Memories of West Street and
Lepke—Robert Lowell
Improv 23
The screen-door was locked
and I was too short to knob my way out into the street after you.
The man in the camo threw your
Kermit green bag In the bed of his pick up truck and you waved A
happy goodbye as the tears washed the dirt Backyard we spent playing in
that morning.
You tickled my baby fat arm and I just knew
We’d be best friends
forever, until fifteen
Tocks to the hour our
door caged
And you walked away.
Skunk Hour—Robert
Lowell
Improv 24
In the newspaper was a
print
Of a blind man and
his cane
The headline wrote: “Blind
Man
Mistakes Taser for
Samurai Sword”
And he fell to the
ground
His skin Braille in
the face
The Buckingham legal
enforcement
Ignored the blind man’s
eyes
And continued to
arrest his ears
In contempt, his story
was erased.
For the Union Dead—Robert
Lowell
Improv 25
Women Growing Up in the South
In the south it’s all
about peach
Bubble fizz of a
southern belle
Her great grandmother’s
cobbler
Perfected by the word
of God
And Mason jars.
It’s about the Monroe
martini glass
Blush red and orange
champaign
Tickling nose by the
brim
The kind of tickle
that fires a man’s
Masonry—his heart
primitive
Pork, honey glazed
bar-b-que.
That’s all she needs
to understand
The mop buckets under
the sun.
Those Winter Sundays—Robert
Hayden
Improv 26
Everyone is More Alike than Different
I’ve grown to be the
man
My father labored
wood for
His persistent drives
up windy
Hills on weekends
warmed
The layers under the
jacket
To prosper from boy
to man.
That properly shook
hands
Firm kept words and
silver
Hand jewelry.
Traveling Through the Dark—William
Stafford
Improv 27
Traveling through the dark
I found a bulb Alive in a small amount of water—flickering In the
mercury tube collecting smaller pieces of dust Little pieces of moss powdered
from the inside bulb Stuff cardboard on the streets and my socks are soaked Sweating
cold against the Chicago wind in December.
I cannot live the skin scathe local weather
I cannot continue to be
ill-fated, clocked between trees
And power lines, the thunder storm must
move The politicians and city boosters must unsettle And
warm humid air, the must march across The eastern states and jacket
the broken glass Shivering in the canals before my tapered soul Foot
the mouth of the suit that passes me as non-existent The
eyelets across his face will prove me human.
At the Bomb Testing
Site—William Stafford
Improv 28
In passing the raccoon’s
tail bristled
Open with chilled
pores gripping fur
The tomb of the soldiers
“We sleep here in
obedience to law:
When duty called, we
came.
When country called,
we died”
The raccoon didn’t have to
feel the Braille To brush the air marbled cold—the repository Remains
of the dead, the bayonets enclosed
By the Mason jar lid, prepared for any
zombie apocalypses.
The Death of the Ball
Turret Gunner—Randall Jarrell
Improv 29
LinkedIn
Your profile viewing
mine
You endorsed my
skills
Sarcastically, so
naturally
I posted private
photograph
The skills you
lacked.
Happy job hunting.
Dream Songs 1—John
Berryman
Improv 30
There are moments when
the ribbon
Ribs the street, cuts
deep
Under the peeled
wallpaper
Curling nail, the
girl
Barely seventeen
lullabies
In her head while her
body
Works the family
bread
Fed to the minnows
Her skin desensitized
Lost in hammered eyes
The lullabies lull
Fairy tales exist for
dying souls,
The last fading hope.
Dream Song 14—John
Berryman
Improv 31
Carving a Hooker is Greater than Carving a
Pumpkin in October
There she is again on
Spring street
Black laced and
labeled, her skin
Organic cosmetic
fiber-glass
Cut molds of clay,
mushy and tasteless.
Men carve into her
dry
Epidermis rind, she’s
a service
Under sharp edges of
Mascara
Weak metal remains,
mastered
By-the-hand of a
solider
A wife raised above
artistic potential.
Dream Song 22: Of 1826—John
Berryman
Improv 32
Revenge of the Vodka Club—Is there a Better
Way to End the Weekend?
I am the out last of
your day.
I am hydration for
wrinkled eyes.
I am the soft waved
curl in red hair.
I am your casual
style during a Thursday rise.
I am fashion and fit
in silk seem tear.
I am facts on 42 shade,
a magazine I lay.
Dream Song 29—John Berryman
Improv 33
Fox Earring in Zinc
18k gold-plated with
glass detail
so crystal, I’ll
follow works.
In a magazine’s
finished touch
A muse inspiring
budget.
Girls fingers
continuing to lurk
Always amazing with
metal lush.
The Force That Through the
Green Fuse Drives the Flower—Dylan Thomas
Improv 34
These guys are Marine’s
Trained to watch
death
A compromise to early
bed
And continue writing
those times
Most fit in a run
against
The God awful bat
That traveled thirty
Minutes to revenge.
A Refusal to Mourn the
Death, by Fire, of Child in London—Dylan Thomas
Improv 35
Only the Dead have Seen the End of Divorce
Footprints in the snow, I
watched her monkey booties Frost by the ears and crack like the tree boughs Too
heavy to listen to the morning cardinals chirp Truth of the window on the third
floor Open for eyes above treetops.
A Song in the Front Yard—
Gwendolyn Brooks
Improv 36
I’ve been running my
whole life.
I want to slow the
screen
find a still frame
moment and reflect in the lake.
A boys growing beard.
I want to walk the
moss path
And maybe sail the
Magat river,
To where my mother
risked odds
On a brat like me.
Boy Breaking Glass—
Gwendolyn Brooks
Improv 37
The Amount of Ink I Want is Ridiculous
Using only one color
on paper,
The ink plays off pen
tops and blank
Space marking modern
attention
To what’s going in
discount stores.
The copyright batfish
kiss
By order of request.
We Real Cool—
Gwendolyn Brooks
Improv 38
In the spring, or
maybe it was summer,
The venomous pups
mate annually
With low cost and
convenient art making
Pectoral fins sheath
sloughs while swimming Synchronized, wing beat under the channel Rocky-bottomed
shorelines sometimes Use oysters to live dangerously subclasses.
An African Elegy—
Robert Duncan
Improv 39
The dusty holster of the
south can take the wild life City of Atlanta and drive the five miles with hand-fed City
dwellers on paved road, individually seating Park benches with insured fast
quality food. Five
different species: White, Black, Indian, Javan and Sumatran, critically
endangered To live consuming both insects and sidewalk water.
Underwear— Lawrence
Ferlinghetti
Improv 41
The world with its
marbled perceptions
An individual’s
choice in how to live.
So unfortunate to
survive Friday night
Hangovers, wander the
Publics aisles
Reading brand after
brand: Lays, Dorritos,
Cheetos, Fritos, Sun
Chips, Baken-ets,
Cracker Jack, Islen,
Matador, Rold Gold,
Spitz, Stacy’s,
Sabra, Ruffles, Funyuns.
Choices, no wonder life
is so difficult.
Love Calls Us to Things of
This World— Richard Wilbur
Improv 42
My Feet Were Cold and You Brought Nordstrom
With free shipping you
brought me knit
Thick diagonal cotton
socks, and I blushed
Next to the furnace as you
placed little-by-little Over my hands two socks.
The Baroque Water Fountain
at the Villa Sciarra— Richard Wilbur
Improv 43
Double fisting wine, I’m
a real Itallian
An Intense tree climber
by the Arano River
My fluent English is like
sweatshirts and patches on admirable fur coat.
Church-Going— Philip
Larkin
Improv 44
Germany Has Been Practicing
All This Time for the Perfect Twenty First Birthday
I thought I lost my shoes
until I saw them by gathered Conversations locked in horror stories about a
specific person On a particular day(s), an event and celebration Of keg
hair, piles of shoes, and lost pocket watches The world watched as little boys
in stripped suit Inhaled clear, tasteless liquored vapor Wiring
throats and eating bones.
High Windows— Philip
Larkin
Improv 45
Here I am stringing
together the words
we once whispered as two teenagers
making out in a field fifteen minutes
from home on Villa Road
Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives--
settled in a French influence estate
vintage with blood plumped harvester,
everyone young is going down the long slide
To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, That’ll be the life;
we once whispered as two teenagers
making out in a field fifteen minutes
from home on Villa Road
Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives--
settled in a French influence estate
vintage with blood plumped harvester,
everyone young is going down the long slide
To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, That’ll be the life;
a baby and a money hungry
father
and an assistant in scantily clothes
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds. And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of an antique window:
chippity yellow with rusty handles,
And beyond it, the metaphor of his broken relationship
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
and an assistant in scantily clothes
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds. And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of an antique window:
chippity yellow with rusty handles,
And beyond it, the metaphor of his broken relationship
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
More Light! More Light—Anthony
Hecht
Improv 46
The Manila Slums are viewed
through cheap window seals, Seen as trash, sustainable trash in the darkness.
Natural light only exists in the
favorable smile Of the child featured in Impact your World Unaffordable, native families
chore in the simple Fixed holes and iron roof tops that leak in seasons Of the
sea.
In Class Exercises
Text with in Text Exercise:
Magazine
The world wrote:
“These fattening hogs
Have had too long
A rest”
And the women
They did not argue
But instead cleaned.
In the absence of lips
Their bones bruise
As their backs narrow
And their breast
Augment into things
But just one part
Of a thing
The focus of lips
She won’t talk back
She’s no consequence
for man.
These girls, they’ve
got it
The outside smiles
The primary message
In the Istanbul eye
The wear between
thighs.
Magazine
The world wrote:
“These fattening hogs
Have had too long
A rest”
And the women did not
argue to clean
lips, bruised bones
and narrow backs
their breast augment
into things
a part of other
things that focus
on lips that won’t
talk back
She’s no consequence
for man.
These girls, they’ve
got it
The outside smiles
The primary message
In the Istanbul eye
The wear between
thighs.
Magazine
The world wrote:
“These fattening hogs
Have had too long
A rest”
And the women did not
argue pencil
lined lips that
kissed the bruise bones
on the hands of a
narrow ring turn back
against the focus of
a no consequence man.
These girls, they’ve got the outside smiles
Between their thighs with
the primary message:
“I’m looking down on the world.”
Reversal Exercise:
Agenda
Everything she wears
is brand
Being watched and
correct by crossed ink
Taking precautions,
premature chandler
Events, every detail
matters
Divided in months and
color sticky notes
Abbreviated by the
tabs she looks
For the circled
numbers
The Friday night
silverware
Bold across seven
boxed lines
Which ever one she
choose- the details
Are critical to the
time of year
Trying to put out the
history
Three business cards
organized
Ink bullets magnified
with plastic glass
Frames and set aside
spelling arrangement
That doesn’t say much.
Agenda
On the cover she wears
Lucien Piccard
Detailing the months
on colored sticky notes
Trying to put out the
details for a Friday
Night in gorgeous
Battenber lace wrapped
Around silverware and
premature chandlers she choose- the details so critical to the time of
year that the ink from her floral patterned pen three business into spelling
arrangements that didn’t say much.
Agenda
On the cover she wears
Lucien Piccard
Detailing the months
on colored sticky notes
Trying to put out the
details for a Friday
Night in gorgeous
Battenber lace wrapped
Around silverware and
premature chandlers she choose- the details so critical to the time of
year that the ink from her floral patterned pen three business into spelling
arrangements that didn’t say much.
Two POV Exercise:
Crocks
I look the same on
every foot
Male or female
Stylish to some
degree, I guess.
Walking on cobble
stones
I work better than
the ballerina
Extending her right
leg
Painting the bricks
purple
And red, a hurt foot
requires
Purpose for the
weakened board
Members so
unprofessionally
Peaking out holes with
their big toe
Crocks
On odd man he was with
his curled
Lip hair and
curiously bulged eyes,
his eyes only saw me
fit for horses.
I look the same on every
foot male or female with style to some degree, I guess.
Walking on cobble stones in
Figueres,
Spain with its lonely
landscapes
And shattered paint,
Melting pocket
watches into pools of
shadowed sky.
I work better than the
ballerina
Extending her right
leg over the wall
Of purple and red
bricks
a hurt foot requires
Purpose for the
weakened board
Members so
unprofessionally
Peaking out holes with
their big toe.
Crocks
The tail of a peacock
will watch
The odd man with his
curled lip hair
Curiously with bulged
eyes, his eyes
Only saw me fit for
horses.
I look the same on every
foot male or female with style to some degree, I guess.
Walking on cobble stones in
Figueres,
Spain with its lonely
landscapes
And shattered paint,
Melting pocket
watches into pools of
shadowed sky.
I work better than the
ballerina
Extending her right
leg over the wall
Of purple and red
bricks throbbing
Purpose for the
weakened and aged
Big toe exploring the
world.
