zafusy

Bug whir subsiding
into ravaged sunfucked

pallor ghouled
by some winsome somnambulation:
petit mal coma
bungalows
aglint with
tricked grandeur.

Snap a pinion,
nerves flash,

apex cowboy ride on
Rider 31

“by the way, you were
the sun

scratched in the errata
close the tome
this chapter’s written
on smoke.

Mark Lamoureux

View all poems by Mark Lamoureux