Perfume
mystical sunday morning of a smile
an inward lightly scented
point of view
elusive wisps of crisp air
jazz brushing across the wet, warm sun/sky
of bluish, outstretched
blue
uncluttered by any
unremitting
angel. bad or good.
restored form grand sorrows, or
not.
whether fettered to a tall roost, or
fallen to the hard
ground
no conjuring up of
clanking, carping
ghost
chains .
clanking & complaining about
half - witted
histories
no horses to ride my thoughts too wide. no thoughts to skittishly hurry
my horses
limping
by
scattered. odd and addle -
brained
sludge stuck in
gobbling. lying. whining. and short -
sighted
the epiphanies of these horrors,
they skate away
for the moment
salted to taste, with
all the time in the
world
this moment with its
vague sense of
well - being
this momentary
minute
with its vague, comforting
sense of
density
Copyright © Michael Miers | Year Posted 2021
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