Organ Eyes

We'll not meat in the dust this year the fear throttles us as we rise to wake ships hover well above the horizon floating thru santa Barbara's channel on subsidies, on desperate claws sunk into the world's willing carcass from here uphill, where the rising seas can't touch us (isn't that white Jimboy) from this vantage perched above the crows, a vulture stoop beyond the pale tall palm spread welcoming a zodiac of crows into my/our borrowed yardsky from here the container ships hover as though tethered to a zillion Bezoscopters as though billowing upon a furrowing effulgence of naivete sorry, evianete, pardon my francais somebody ought to bottle my ignorance, the royal ours.

And the palms, they plop foliage in the pacified sea from here they won't let us in the apartment downstairs although we share a hot tub waterfall infinity pool downhill swimming situation

It's been too long since I wrote a poem, hence the uncomfortable feeling I am releasing and you are absorbing.


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Organ Eyes