Making It Up

Okay when each ghost
Has said its last hello.

Okay lost

Okay peanut butter and dusk sandwiches

Okay the faults

Okay abstract

For the walks I take I begin by the seams

I pitch ideas to the sea

I read The Philosophy of Meteorites, by E M Comet

Okay when the sun turns nova

And like a harp
Shows its guts.

Okay the angels having banished our socks
Leaving us with an odd number of shoes.

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