Is Freckled Constellations, Painting You In Statues

Emergent sky, a thousand
cradling owls and you,
dressed in chopper jacket,
published and dusty-
set apart from organs.

Dropping under the breath of
Shakespeare and pines,
a collection of islands
and exclamated changes.
More modern More hands
The duration of
"this just in,
100 best dropped nights."
More notes and news-
an assortment of prose
chained together in such a way of
this poem is about you
and you know it.

Amidst October- a journey to night,
dusk settling on
the thief of the sea-
a portal and fait.
The statue shaped a figure of a/
Your kinetics glistening
on the tip of tongues-
as we are stretching over the walls
in a sense
that is not you
continuing to gaze upon your transitions,
a shade of purple
a shade of jetting

People as of bridges,
you on the highway’s edge
dangling aerial but going strong.
The equinox of hard pleasantries.

Last night the weekly review
cracked into your house
and rearranged your fences
and other such notes of distress.
Art journals-
It is now spring
with the new hymn
hatching what was lost
in the middle.

You left sitting
the milk carton,
something red.
Young under the weight
of slick and frosty apartments,
a chorus of kissing hands-
the focus stood quiet on you.