Lancin Kua: Jun 23, 2009

Weeds Upon My Fingertips

0 comments Published Tuesday, June 23, 2009 by lancinkuairqbty.

October 2007

Weeds upon my fingertips; see? When I heard the door slam ahead of her fingertips, I knew, she knew, the door knew, the lock too... We all knew that the future demonstrated (as always) Advertising Book Design Typography sort of togetherness no one condoned.

The buzzards were naked as they Retail Pos Software the cloth-flesh to hide their succinctnesses; Air Azores Flight Transat the nightly skunks, the opossums, the armadillos, the preying mantis on 'their windshield'...

You lovers, moaning electricity's and black silks washed throughout thistles and budding Franklin Funds roses, fields, honey bee swarms and camels adorned by limestone thorns...

The evening-madams of heaven riding Legal Aid Alberta 'I am not thirsty Box Psychonauts Through Walk X claiming the waves, another generation of forwardness, erasing, togetherness so to commit to exits...

And right there, the moment, where the eye-look perceives some odd Best Paying Survey that no religion can explain, no angel can relinquish and no god is ever enough to 'work out', the tears, the time it takes to figure out how love is to make the next set of steps so to be called "I walked"...

Then the 'next day' rises, like Medusa's hymen; she's too shy, too moved by the mornings' frequencies to dissuade anything to 'freeze': all over the planet, for one day, every policeman's 'guns' turns to clay, as he lays dreaming of deeds done, world records won and re-won; wombs paused, stopping the Absolutes senility, the pacing, the waiting on a porch belonging to no dog, no new wood-stove song, no banjo, no basilisk blink and no leaning towards razor quarantine...

We rest at night, edges of silver linings un-sun-lit and screaming for museum status; a man laughs, then thinks and goes quiet as another older 'ash-collector' thinks for him;

He dives into his life's imprisonments and loves them awhile; a zipper sounds, and a soul-spirit robber resounds, as pollen Discount Furniture down another problem's throat; bewilderment, planets colliding, mother nature violated, while 'she' watches on, marrying the devil to the angel, her children clamoring for definition where there is none...

The 'Garden of Eden' is a mental state, not a place; where god's laziness and our own, hires clowns to make the sun laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh... Till the smiles burst into life again, seemingly, new coral forms, birds give birth to dinosaurs, and the planet Pluto becomes a gnat again, flying into the throat of some saint, as she screams ecstatic, fully knowing the speedometer reads 165 mph and not 65.

Michael E. Angell
http://www.michaelangell.com

Michael E. Hornet Trailer Travel
http://www.michaelangell.com

Weeds Upon My Fingertips

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