honeydunce

and then there is this pen trying to document the gait of plaid jacket dancers entering the bus legs the exact circumference of muscle the driver’s beard growing in the flecked fragment of paper scrap stuck caddycorner to a chignon I can’t Clear that out of the head the mess of Sky this morning that slung in like night my Alarm set normal but seeming so early  And then there is the pen Attempting a squabble down of Ambulance alarms and generally specific City living Oh I know Wills of knots are twice concerned with Other steerings in other palms Slick and stick messed up not stutter no Then this, This I try to put it down like it might be mine for Just a moment of misunderstanding always sitting always Hitting drums with hips never yours then Maybe clouds considering the intrigue of being fog will fall Stargazer killed by spacejunk, call the press and get them prepped since They love this sort of shit And a sky Not mine not yours not even the sonnets own And then There is this pen like walking stick posing Out by my usual block & corner, crooning flimsy stomping, grunting past the gutters just walking the groceries home.