surely we slink
almost static isms
stockpile silence
in simple nature zones
and moon patches
hollow waves crane
where boots fit tighter
than miserable guitars
on salty nights rampage
through leopard land
surely we slink
in outworn headbands
burly beeves listening
if main instigators
hear creeping silence
fizz orthodoxies of ignorance
bent over wands of fire
handheld by frozen invisibles
working overtime
in this miracle hour
smoke signals rise
over horizons
as UFOs elevate
sharp angles of light
so loudly you can’t hear
uniform plastic orbs
a million miles
some other day away
waiting for a sign
or a song waiting
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