The day always ends with a banquet - al
fresco, here in the courtyard. Assortments
of praise keep flitting
between our mouths, conducted
in the sparkle our tongues
lick words with. Spit
and crackle beat off
my mind into
the folio you hold
for the senses' clippings.
A handicam flails and rocks just
like a prop does
when the scrum collapses.
Twilight spools its resin around
the vineyard's perimeter.
Thus begins a defense cordon. We're all
still learning.
With sip then gulp
of this peach cider,
clarity demands
that the scar on your cheek
will benchmark
all that deserves
to be called warm
or comely.
Indigo strobe and base dub
Two hundred a New Hamelin.
Mosh and wail: our bodies'
Neologism for rhythm.
Stonewashed, hung in paisley, jeans wade
Into repercussions
Shored between Work and Income
And the drug dispensary.