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BROW OF AWNING

Anvil Headed tops are alive with light
seeping through the tall pines sighing
slick with flicker shards
dust rushes from alleys dark mouth
wires moan mournful dirges
Muffled thunder detonation
rolls across the hills
in the strange darkness
advancing

My glass is half full
she asks
'your half empty! can I
pour you more?'
I rattle the clinking
cubes
say nothing
and Obedient
she dips her knees
a hand holding
her dress
the Golden bourbon
gushes
refreshing
I can inhale
and taste its soothing
bitter poison
The awning flexes
its great striped
wing
I can smell the
exquisite perfume
along with the
fuel leaking from
the T-birds tank
the earthen soil
of her tall lawn
leading to the
dirt streets

a crawling boom
followed by the
artillery of God's
flash
She is looking
directly in my eyes
I am looking directly
at her thighs

she sighs and drinks
straight from the bottle
chair back...her long
feet behind the front
legs of the chair
she looks satisfied
and calm
and happy
that I am
here
for this moment
I Belong

..

Editing stage: 

Comments

A while ago we had some problems between us and you asked me to delete the recordings I had made of your work, which I did.

Your work is living language and reveals itself well in spoken form. May I have your permission to record this and post it to our Neopoet Facebook page?

cheers,
Jess
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