21
writings to our mother
not-as-yet unrealized dreams.
Dreamy saxophone blares in waves,
sending trance outlines
over spirit mannequins.
A shedding train
from east,
southward bound in course,
- spreading propaganda
in finger painted credit trails burns white plastic,
shatters knife in
stainless fashion.
- This sound that I hear on my home
stereo recalls memories of childhood. I
remember sitting in a white bathroom,
sitting more specifically on the white tiled
steps of a white plastic jacuzzi tub. I was
an acto//((ˆ..,
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listen to Herbie Hancock’s Head Hunters
over cheap 2000’s headphones plugged in
a cheap 2000’s mp3 Player Device.
Those were the good times These are the better times.
Glitch fingers drool over dirty sweat stained emeralds,
Jungle tusk bone marrow spilling over hardwood floor.