Monday, October 18, 2010

A verb's word

Well, can’t lift my head off the page—tattoo’d

my eyes look out: roll right, roll left.

The sanded plain. Blurred blacks in corners—

most likely the subject, the object

(with all-do-respectively, good sirs. )

Though like I said, I can’t move.

None of us can. I’m merely guessing.

Merely forehead stamped.

Blackheads we conglomerate meaning,

serve eyes who typewriter-slide in socks—

nearly-snake were it not for the hawk hop--

the give away: the one-legged-jig at the end.

The heads who slow their beaded tickers

at the occasional: don’t trip-on-your-

momma-comma; my gist-fist period;

the crusin-for-a-bruisin dash—

scarecrows point them onward.

Yes—onward from parental punctuation/genesis capitalization: all lies!

i want to Verb up! these perfectly spaced out times!

mr romans chains have rusted

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