Roadside dagger glowing with marriage, or
At least obligation, look up the word glib
in the sunlist-diction, another risen CNN sign in red diamonds of light and propaganda just beside the costume exclusivity of the Trump Towers, we own the land, bow like candle birds until it stands for us, and I'm sitting in this space-aged audotorium watching old men turn young on brass and risk and a glad tear traps my eyelids in their most honest pose, between confession and confusion where clarity intrudes as music. I could hide it, but I won't hide it. Wade in the water. There's no trouble there. Just a couple of misplaced words, and affections disguised as weapons so we recognize them
in ourselves
again.
