with a ruder writing awakened

this executioners mark sat wasted on a girlish pout

once the stupid bodies of the foolish dead

were dragged by the fanned shoes

crooked classics needing no further background checks

 

unbridled is what it is

the empty right hand hugged as tumbled denial

where distance curled your recognised existence

pine tobacco growled a rounded family prison at

the grimy moment of that instant opening

 

maybe hoping the stutter striated  fineness

of departing would be glad to receive yesterday

and it’s thumb trembling original overfilled to the curiously

cowardly rim of sad mathematics

counting the swollen dry licks of each raindrops heart

 

yes my resentful pillow still flirts with the lamp folded

in the impertinent corner while. as desperate

as the conversation could grow. there lies no fainter

hope while every Monday brews its own disgust

and tomorrow sues for divorce

 

https://soundcloud.com/paulsands/sounds-from-tuesday-afternoon