Aberdeen filled with blood
known and crude,
poured out in coffee fulls
great howling moons
marbled down the gray asphalt
under the ascendancy of Night
like a weekend singed by
vodka, straight Siberia to
the brain- straight
disobedient blue notes tapped [out]
on toy pianos- in the
nowhere collage dorm- before
the album skipped the
seeds where hosted on
Diver Down and let go
out the window for
the squirrels, for the weight
of one quarter of an ounce,
to germinate- the next 20 years
in a jocular wistful, windblown
proof of purchase.
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