deepundergroundpoetry.com
Augusts' porch
Mason jar full of lemonade;
loaded like light was lying
with junipers' bite, is set
on the table to the right.
Mid afternoon now
been up since three.
It started about a month ago
waking up with the sun,
then in the last ten days or so
it has gotten earlier.
The lamp from the living room
is wired through the window, out
to the porch. No bother returning
it, there is a new drawing started
and the sun punches in far too late
when an artist remembers his name.
A sense of getting closer; while wideness
doubles down on dividing its' own cells,
declares squatters rights on the porch
of the old farmhouse.
One of the last remaining
cigarettes, is rolled to accompany a mason jar
full of lemonade, that has the bottom of a Rubens'
woman, singing baritone in the basement.
loaded like light was lying
with junipers' bite, is set
on the table to the right.
Mid afternoon now
been up since three.
It started about a month ago
waking up with the sun,
then in the last ten days or so
it has gotten earlier.
The lamp from the living room
is wired through the window, out
to the porch. No bother returning
it, there is a new drawing started
and the sun punches in far too late
when an artist remembers his name.
A sense of getting closer; while wideness
doubles down on dividing its' own cells,
declares squatters rights on the porch
of the old farmhouse.
One of the last remaining
cigarettes, is rolled to accompany a mason jar
full of lemonade, that has the bottom of a Rubens'
woman, singing baritone in the basement.
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