Deep in pain
she is so far, after
so long while
melting in the
rain... two quarters
& a dime and you
dial the numbers;
fingers frail as if tracing
a Ouija board,
listens to the static, the winds...
Like Jimmy Olsen
changing clothes
Zarathustra thus
into his Nietzsche Übermensch mode,
altered faces
mid-morning in Metropolis;
mild no more he flies
to save Lana Lang's
Kryptonite green "Hello Kitty" t-shirt from
a burning building...
elsewhere, Clark Kent
remains
lost in a red phone-booth.
Smile... the sun is bright, and
you're being thought of
as equinoxes & the neon rains
pale blue, through the windows
of paper-drenched hotels;
this black scratched surface under white,
under August 29th,
the moon is blood (wine)
& red, numb my mind;
continuum in numbers thirty & nine
life behind, if ahead,
where we lie
dear you
we all go there
like flowers in dirt.
(hold him in your delicate palm
and he will never be gone,
"Dear Grandfather")
& ever, emphatic
perennial, el
übricated,
la sol
w/ & without the "u"
the soul remains.
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