Waiting for the amp in the squatter –
It was a sleep inning.
The flower petals
even tho’ the gardens were empty.
Lockdown – a perverse brass band
playing on an onion computer,
accidental parliament impalement package.
Could have been a contender –
barroom bazookas slip out the door,
what we have is a failure to communicate –
static of the soul & the heart,
clambering cacophony in cabinets.
I’m speeding-up > ignorant tweets<
so I could be suffering dolorous figments.
Had my foreground tag forested –
a trickling resentment,
just a low priced fickle gatekeeper.
~portability probability potential~
-revealed exp. stairs’ spider dread *
Their confusion and the arrival of gossip
were me – inevitable pushing.
Bicycle woods, blame the cobbler’s grief,
forget stereophonic demands –
here comes democracy
wearing a face-mask.