Your are frozen in motion in the station wearing dull green fatigues whose pattern withstands/mimics the blazee shapes of raided shrubs or the velcro radio under my pillowcase, just playing at the pace of pills in the brave liver, just being still in place s that make him mercy, a silhouette into where gleeful registers have slipped me their torches as witch brides who sink into the myth of their prowl: library, la mer, If this were a relay and not a fixed corridor, I'd pass you the bridge in order of its press is blind on numb heroes shiny dialectic mezzirols Good things were solid, better things were out-of-this-world, best things like the girl quiet as the matrifocal soil is dowry for the boy soldier civilian about to just be in this train car a million miles away from me, adjacent, grazing my nylon with his own camouflage I hope he's in the band chewing towels to strengthen his jaws and calling me Cannonball, Anon for short , Crescent, Other Words, the erotic is not sexual, only when you're lucky A hesitant volunteer adjusts my riddle to dry eyes and his - grow the hills of attention called restraint which is a casual fat green 30 seconds of Woodshedding on the way off a traveling machine
Mind so clean, mine stays clean just looking clean
