Tags

,

Futures
fall behind
themselves
into present,
into past.
Serial
orientation
row upon row
before and after
our repast.
Once more
the images
on the
evening news.
Willful disillusion
interpretive
conclusions
if you choose.
Ebony tiles
precariously
balanced,
on a thin
edge,
perforated
with dots
of ivory
up front,
down the back.
Arrayed
for the
execution
of spectacular
falls,
Hands up
don’t shoot
face down
in the gutter,
sprawled.
Slap ’em
down
on the table
call out,
Domino!
Knick knack
Paddy whack
clickity clack
fall the bones.

M. Zane McClellan

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