POETRY
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| Coffee |
| Palmy |
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POETS
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Palmy in the palmy redness of these veined up bastard hands go sit and get surrounded. go quiet babies -- go to deep breathe, have your rubber soles push into the dirt push free of the dirt. when the hooks gnash out - will grab at you invite them through get dragged along -- friendly babies. so deaf, not to let the music save you. deaf inside of the ruddy sweet-talk hands. pet pet down your backs getting your belly filled. over full -- empty even. to crash and pistol in the rib cage -- have not is whining. lying-in from these mobbed blood hands, babies. go to the lull that is in every ear . . . so thick -- it stops every us.
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