occult occupation

seeing ghost butts fly in on winter ligands
and brush strokes, cat hair pulled for comb
dome sugar plantation sandwhich breaths
out of breath hardly dressed, the morning
freezes the next good arrest from a cardiac
artist, tea and chocolate sets the revolution
up for the peace with justice juice cup slurps

If there is something to believe in
it much might be the diagrams of
howling moons and warbling wolves
in the forest graves blujay swords
playing catch with the mud and color
of autumn and coleslaugh