When (singing to the silent wide of your eyes) I find that small almost innocuous birds have dealt with the thunderous evening increments by shedding their shells (into your eyes) orange 5 speckled crying (for to breathe is to die) will you my most sweetly taut unstrummable note (placid in pride of your calm) will you (I want to know) take my new unfolding hands spread for a dismal uncommon febuary sun, 10 sky dancing in the light of forever, breezed with original ironicless laughter, cackling dawn, and sew them up with a seamless surgary meticulous, as a rose locked away in its leaves eternally fruitless unbudded disaster or what?
From the collection "Youth Youth Youth"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.