"ma che cazzo"
and that tree on the back patio?
Just call it “fica’s benjamina.”
noiseless food
the mannerless goo
nameless mismatch
and goatee-less moustache
tried forever
to fried food neverland
and begged
the ring
to let go of your hand
it speaks to me
of where
and special places
traces of love
and the faded photographs
of 45’s smallish talking
barely singing
hardly breathing
o don’t believe
what you can’t see?
Think again that it’s
All about what you witness
As your own experience
What if what you exert exacts
Its vengeance in allowing
You to believe you hold the reins?
Rights for the providence
And ceremony
What if we can grant nothing
And our tolerance is conceit
Disguised as lust? My metronomic heart
Speeds hastily toward a coda-fied conclusion.
© jim hill 12-04-10
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