Elliot

P�re and M�re Chose could be in conversation
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
P�re and M�re Chose could be in conversation
there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
Gray the cloud-like oaks
The edge of that other square cut from the right
Beneath the snowflakes I notice fa�ades
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
Of observation lying on the ground
What can we know of whatever picture-plane
Escapees from the cold work of living,
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.