Monday, January 22, 2007

Limited Stamps

On the beach in Hollywood FL, a tractor drags a giant segment of pipe
In order to smooth away the foot prints, garbage and seagull carcasses.

Inverted aircraft or scones with gunpowder.

The hump over the drawbridge over the intracoastal is the biggest hill in Hollywood and very hard to peddle over.

Thanks for thumbs, they give inversion a cloudy temple.

My landlord in Hollywood thought it was funny to make racist jokes. My neighbor across the backyard was arrested for selling shoulder mounted surface to air missiles.

Standing pipes unleash the car bombs, carburetor, link shadows with hair.

My backyard was filled with sticker burs that grew like a grass. My dog developed an aversion to pooping.

The inches mount up, corrosions of sand holes filled with salt, the salted earth.

There are stamps with portraits on them of people who have done nothing of significance with their lives.

I would rather have a stamp with my thumbprint on it. Then the soldiers might not recognize me as I weep.

On the Broadwalk in Hollywood FL, you may encounter poets dressed as drill sergeants or darkened spit globs deep as a highway sun.

Crutches of sun make the roaming clink as though things are just right and about to occur.

In the bike lane on the Hollywood Broadwalk you may be hit by a Canadian child riding one of Leonardo’s wire dreams.

You are halo constructed then charmed by hands like the turnstile.

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