Atticus

[dead man]

the

antisocialite - leave me to my own devices, floating ice
cubes. open microphony, type to never take his own advice
moldarama prototypist, passe en prose ebola virus
cola/rye, the polarizing. torn between his low and highest
slow to rise, the overnighter, dreary-eyes and swollen sinus
mocha latte journal writer, thumbing through these old recitals
music metal, melty petals, molten magma met Geppetto
pulling on my puppet strings at every level
mirror plate my amaretto. china case my fragile devil
shatterproof his shadow, still i cast it any chance i get to
brain tissue, splattered on his past credentials. blacken pencils
sobbing at his master's headstone
bronze statuette guard pharaoh's temple
iridescence accidental born to be a fucking ghost
most nights i sit and wonder if i'm swimming in a sunken boat
fist around a thunderbolt our skin is electric
maximalist, lost within his possessions
minimal messages make a lasting impression
yet retain her every spoken word to fashion a weapon
pen encephalitis mental vat of potential
here i stand at attention. marveling the labyrinth i crept through
Atticus Finch, plaintiff and a defendant
too busy setting a watch to live his sentences





dm