Tuesday, July 5, 2011

This bath's run cold.
Hit the hot water faucet with a foot flossing out
Kernels of yesteryear. Fixated on the flavors of
The moment--put gold to that silver tongue, and cleanse.

The fire works slow to roast this wienie.
Idle chatter runs off ears reclined in their chairs.
A point's made not caring that they banned lawn darts;
Lucky we have our stained blanket-capes.
We're all superheroes in this suntanned blockbuster.

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