Additional Features

He fades in and dresses,
goes to work; his body travels,
paled by the petals on which bees walk,
but smooth as wasps in their socket.

A stopsign turns to face him,
a crosswalk twirls beneath him,
and it pours from a bruise in the sky.

He walks and carves his route
through puddles, while his thought treacles,
pulsed by the rail on which pedestrians live,
but driven as the air behind an animal shout.

Printed from Cerise Press: http://www.cerisepress.com

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