the wind sock is purring,
can the screech owl, attack the navel.
with his peeking tom mentality.
streets filed down to a solid number.
telling her the secret nature.
The night time rings,
the nest waddles, the giver gabs away.
dandelions that sing,
saddled up and the windows is cleansed.
how are you?
I am sinking...it drips.
now let us dance to the sawdust.
-Aaron Held
Im engaged with the butcher
His blood on the floor
The sawdust in my hair
He was bold enough to bone
The old cow, now dead as a nail
In the night the flight of owls
Hit the window screaming
This is a feather bed
Made wisely.
-Zete Purongge
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