:::

 

Just for a fragment of the sun

lowers the head the days hit by felt

hood of haze tries to get as much sleep as possible

pinball machine with

pine green against the wall 

they beg to

take up the kiss debt from the river's bark

dimmed by the ointment of silence, 

the banners of light take spawning

into its throat;

from its car window the predator shows teeth

which of the previous ones 

are phase mental and sleeping

toboggan shelters are attached to

churches thick with debt to the kisses of the dead

from bags gushes the mind like the thin beer

it is clear that the fog smurf has begun.