NEW POST

nasty notes leftover from burnt toast
dripping to dry pieces,
scarab beetle feces
frozen coats solid before the sun,
liquid before god and burnt before most.

when silver bells approach noon,
the angel hermit of the bridge,
will still be fridgid below ice flow clouds
suddenly ocean and deep.

who would through a wheel chair
away on a bright day
is beyond me, behind a sign of the times
reacting with pure mud to form a new nuclease
chain dangling in free space.