The Matador and The Wooly Mammoth
Feel like this bioptic-symposium
As my left knee relinquishes.
Runs in the family, bad left knees.
And the black sheep was a reformed-bad-apple and suddenly
There, noisy cues to rules off-set
By a dismal glimpse lifted in jade + mercury.
Hares hopping as moons soar and scour
For the birds to flight the realms of the butterflies on their
Journeys, to an exotic bridge of recollective mists and the family is reunited again in distant-virture of origin’s sake.
There is no real refute in circumstantial upsets when I see the reasons families have decided to migrate without fuel
And instead lodge long-term.
Unbeknownst to items left behind
From a place where no mailboxes exist, but a friend that’s done it before can
Lead you to the jungle
So you don’t drop where the
Alligators meet the crocodiles
And the chickens at the riverbed are in a frenzy.
Generational shouts and screams.
Almost like torture the misery of disagreement.
Let alone the holy days. Auctions of contention and electorative: no one is getting paid for this argument.
No Debate ordained but someone here is involved enough to be upset to leave or hopeful enough to cut the pie.
And hope the knife doesn’t go through the tin
When the pecans split.
petrichor - archive 