Saturday, May 30, 2009

Little guy.

I have found the new mosquito:
He pinches between things,
Plumbing against the woodhardy thigh,
Regarding a day in long inches, rugged short sleeve,
And what the wind will do to a little guy.

It's just an idea, what I said,
Stay in contented land with a wife:
You can relax, pop a bulging raisin in your teeth
And suck the brown sugar under the drowsy shadow of
Your tongue.

There's so little to what you want.
At least you put it out there.
That brief juice runs,
Parasite in midmorning
And what is love

And what bellows with love
Drowns with that briefest
Delirious liquor.

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