Tired Horses at Unstructured Silent Dawn

unstructured prose in the garden of misaligned opportunity
tipping the morning with transparency and fossil guilt

there is something wrong with the mail
it does not desire or cool with the florescent touch
instead it appeals for sovereignty
like a knight in diamond showers
and a pedestrian on the cool highway with crooked hammers

there was no air, I’m afraid
we used it all dumping the evening trash
with ceiling incisors and crumbling fortis

Give me your shopping alcoholic fists in motion
impatient stones on the eager weight of blissful architecture
like spent juleps tasking the master’s voice
So that cooled coal comes out of his teeth and rhythm sinks in his despair

I have the feeling that I am losing the only meter that pays
winged like a father in daytime pearls, forever praying to stay