04-15-2014, 05:37 PM
Lull
The wolverine slept as the moon curdled,
and the pineapple closed its eyes and dreamt a
Minotaur, in sorrow and joy, sending
a marble down a flat plane. The world
simmers with a haunted feeling that whorled
around some painted antler is an end
with our beginning pinned within it,
panting helplessly, matched, and on Forty-Forth
and Main, I feel a light, banana-yellow,
warm, oily, and sweet. At six, the bell goes
rich, deep, patient. It can wait,
whatever's next again, and straightness,
I'll pretend, has no curl. Let's watch the day
end and think, say, the sun will never come up again.
The wolverine slept as the moon curdled,
and the pineapple closed its eyes and dreamt a
Minotaur, in sorrow and joy, sending
a marble down a flat plane. The world
simmers with a haunted feeling that whorled
around some painted antler is an end
with our beginning pinned within it,
panting helplessly, matched, and on Forty-Forth
and Main, I feel a light, banana-yellow,
warm, oily, and sweet. At six, the bell goes
rich, deep, patient. It can wait,
whatever's next again, and straightness,
I'll pretend, has no curl. Let's watch the day
end and think, say, the sun will never come up again.