We are  into our endless shards
Of  bottles embedded in a wall
With the crows sitting in them
With their triangular feet as if
They made footprints in soap.

The shards cut day’s sun in us
And evening bled with shame
When crows prematurely sat
Before cement is properly set
And goes dry in the next sun.

The shard was a kaleidoscope
Of triangle shards stuck with
A fevicol that set like cement
On the walls with dark crows
On them with triangular feet.

And triangular feet resumed
In carbolic soap on the kids’
Bodies gleaming with a bath
In lather bubbles of evening
Light’s shards of many hues

And sun was a liquor bottle
Broken after liquor went on
Tragedy,an after-fact shard
Gleaming a town and a blue
With the black label a shard

The sun broke many a light
In a room ‘s skylight shards
So diagonally that it ground
Light into a fine flying dust
As if it was a nice protozoa.

Poetry letters are light dust
Of future’s bones in shards
Broken in their punctuation
And language turns to dust
After a poetry is plate glass.


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