Not The Rockefellers

let’s talk about cupcakes  tall & frosted dynamite tucked inside

i recall the tug the inescapable call of a perfect storm my legs paper cranes tossed through glass  my soul did not flinch yet i blinked twice & in the distance wild flickers coaxed toothsome tribal timpani it’s a jungle in here 

the rasp of an echo stuck in flight noises for the hard of feeling

she flips the world off the end of her cigarette  yawn. insouciant nicotine angst

as long as you are able to tie a good knot keep on drifting all is not lost

i  love to see compassion cut through backyards and happen whatever the weather

be a lamb, dear and find me fetching for awhile or at least until the sun sets