He speaks the truth of the windowless tunnel.
If I erred on the side of caution I wouldn’t admit it.
Silence comes in many forms, many shapes.
There sat the idea of geometry before fattening,
Crawling beneath a sea of treetops, released to sleep.
By touching the twitch of your nose motion ceases.
Triangles, bats, figments, pigments, collections
Writhing around within a home like tumors, jellies,
Transient organs of the crouching crustacean,
A morphology skin cells of a cephalopod pederast.
He stared out the vehicle and commanded traffic.
He prowled the conversation with an orange tone.
I can make out what gets said without commitment.
Waterfowl breaching the realm of comfort.
A lone gull being grilled, guts charred into the spit.
The clouds are dampening today, screaming muffled.
Sway your hips for the security cameras beneath,
Remember Venus trespassing across the solar fields.
He wondered and put forth the final grey clause.
He and the spinning globe spitting forth a flood.
As I walked through the International District
Sipping on my coffee as it was the coffee break,
Walking by storefront after storefront dark
And inactive, because the power was out,
I noticed a man standing on the sidewalk
Who stared at the billboard of some business.
Was he schizophrenic, drugged, or holy?
From the back it looked like his fist was pumping.
From the front the man was praying, bowing,
Over and over again, probably still is right now.