Orangesuitcases

With bruises and cuts Lining his fingers That he used to slaughter The younger calves with. His home had become A prison For the smaller ones. He continues to work With his cornucopia While never doubting His own good deeds

Curves that lead to sinews Little brass knobs All echoing tones. Balalaikas ringing And metal guitars Look up to my dancing flea. The ukulele that gods of rock Have blessed

Forecast of Rain Should have rained that day The fresh droplets descending Splash on my face.  Splash. Life in the Swamp Tadpoles become frogs Swimming in the mud water As I sit and watch. The Leaf that Fell Nature set ablaze And everything is new Leaves incinerate

Regardint the Young Boy and the Cocker Spaniel I remember when we used to Watch HBO for free You stole it from the neighbors I remember the rush of remembrances, As we struggled to grasp it. You only wanted to see I remember the examinations Below the loft with a metal pointer You were showing your sister I remember when I still wore those Jeans and the Bugle Boy Sweater You told me I looked stupid I remember when you touched the Future of the cosmos. I stood shivering in my socks

The snow that soaked The highway has all but melted Down to the pavement It's getting to the point Where you can't tell Snow from mud anymore. It probably isn't the best idea To run speed trials here With these soft turns and Harsh conditions

Listen as I wake in that far effacement. Windows move and roses clear walls, I stand among a handful of vowels. The swallows going like slow voices Magnify your arrival to no place at all. Your nightgown flickers among shadows, Victorian nakedness whitens one pink midwife. Footsoles stumble blankly in round museum beds. Breath distils notes and dulls wind's drafty elements. It's set its fat cloud from the stars and I'm clean.

Green or red or yellow Some come with pink now. Better to wash them now Wash it all away. The skin helps intestines. You should really have that roughage In your system, But I used to peel them.

Chubby bunny, they thought, would be an effective method Of determining certain factors of each of their lives. Should we all use chubby bunny? It seems to only work for those two Those sacred two with their chubby bunny songs Singing simple short songs.  Shorter than average songs Certainly chubby bunny works to ascertain different aspects of their lives Who can you go to play chubby bunny? Do we all have a chubby bunny? I don't know, but lets get some more marshmallows.

The bow slides Across your skin Squeaking on The elongated strings And up your neck That I clumsily put my Fingers on. No guiding frets, I have to know Exactly where to go To get you to sing.

The dark behind the plate glass Made its way to the door It had never looked so simple So precise It allowed me one piece of Fruit from its bowl I ate the treat as Gulls cried at my ears Then we dug up the cat and Froze it behind the plate glass walls