Tuesday, September 7, 2010


A blood-red, viscous sangria
paints a background wash, scattering
its thoughtless, liquid sedation.

Calloused durability wades through shallows,
curing freshly poured cement sidewalks
which exhibit no pathology: a hollow skull.

Hand holding reassurance slithers
beyond the edge of the world, smearing
sangria droplets across the cords of a snare.

Lines in the linoleum soundlessly
impersonated grout-filled spaces
between ceramic tile squares.

Convenience trips on any light beam, stuttering
incoherent aphorisms' dominating supplication,
driven along a straight-lined highway, swerving.

The blood-red, viscous sangria
impersonated grout-filled spaces
between the pithy beats of jazzed-up syncopation.

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