Idn’t be right to happen as I stand center of a weedy lot,
An 8-iron shoved into the dirty sky
Better not be while churning amid whitecaps,
The Hosts of Heaven dragging furniture across the floor
Too obvious atop an Appaloosa in a downpour,
(Great-Grandpa Thomas successfully split in the lateral with this method)
Let it come—
The Infinite in an Instant/
The surreal slamming into the ordinary like a train/
Tesla with a chewy Einsteinian center—
Just as I’m exiting the local grocery.
Arms overloaded, cell phone buzzing.
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6 comments:
I'm not sure i understand it, but it sounds cool!
it sounds horrible! :)
by which i mean the idea, not the words or whathaveyou.
That will be the day :)
Thomas's bro andrew was the one hit and killed by lightening, or he was Grandma Michaelson's bro, at any rate; great poem but very sad. But exciting I supose.... for strangers in the store. I need more information, what was actually in the grocery bag?
Um, I think I'd probably have in the bag: prunes, spaghetti sauce, oranges, stir-fry fixins (including thai peanut sauce), dark chocolate, and milk. That a sampling of my usual fare, anyway.
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