The sun's a botch of blacks, queer spumings in a night sky white as absence, where my unconsoling finger filches the new negative postmarked Malibu Observatory. Rick squints at stars; 5 tumescent inks roll from my soul like a squid. I am bathed in daylight. Sidetracked in a lawnchair on the brick porch trimmed with ignited marigolds I spend each wasted, one-starred day hunching into words for a clue; 10 a girl ferries a cup of honey like the grail to my droning chair.... I drone and follow the blue, botched line dribbling from my pen, overfull of metaphors. My puppets sing and hang themselves, harmless Hamlets drenched with a wish to live.
From the collection "Red Bank"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.