The American Boy

I felt heaven, leave the the aved snow, in removal;
From the American Boy, a few days in the North;
Flawed wind from his windpipe spilt out in cruel sandpipers.

The white oil from sojourning burned his turned tongue angst;
That broke free the mountain, potted avalanche, climb;
His arms after ice picking, packed cold in a blood-sensei sun.

Beyond a look into the afternoon, a mirror morning light;
Diagram war, a burlesque butterfly pressed in passport molted rock;
Uncertain, in seconds, the seasnow bells and bald eagles cut elapsing.

A crawl after snow midway, two eyes - jasper his shrieks frozen retirement.




copyright 2011