„From the Glass Hill Down”

2014/09/16

that summer, she said, each man received his award
that day
saints restored to nirvana
that hour
our bum bags were empty
though dust poured out of them
& that was fair payment:
the promised
anesthetic
gold

!finally

we scattered it
cross the death board, & the chariot speed
convinced me dust is heavier than iron
or chains of love – both
never let me down

w/ each kiss
she assumed
stars are of gold,
though to me they’re steel ship filings
dropped from ports
of oceanic cavernousity

hung on
somewhere ‚twin law & intrigue
your blue eyes don’t catch –
there’s power
& a green screen
of
high definition
meadows

they’re all I see in your soul
spreading the plague of fame
washing sidewalks w/ subconscious mops
of
art dressed as
ignorance
breakfasts served
in a glasshouse

Copyright © 2014 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.