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Tin Sun Slopped
The sun is so clever the way it spills on the silver
shifting, morphing, keeping me guessing where
will I fall with it next, it has
grooves like a tongue, it will taste the sweetness
of what I carefully lay bare, taste the bitterness of
my leaving it, alone to its own devices
implements dispersing with the wind gracefully, melting
into the whitening of my wetly desert hands
the little indigo oasis in my colossally tiny bambi eyes
gazing out its watch fatly
looking out its seek, grimly.
8.11.03
