jim leftwich, poems, 01.10.2017

intimate fort of raccoons

coat of collaged mutations. bustles and lulls the ambient portent. ambiguity rattles the exits. depends on constraints, guerrilla vacations, cultural vaccinations. the play of reverie in the gut of disorder.

jim leftwich
01.10.2017

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grapple the salient energies

the sequel is settled in primary pasts. vivid and fair, ensemble directed rice, for the naturally deviant traditions. science is serried and vacillates, banned from its own limits. we go to school to talk with our comrades. our bones are reflexive and persistent. the fumes of the robin, spent choices levitate the liquid creed: mathematical elevators, poems extinct in the details of the veil.

jim leftwich
01.10.2017

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respectable gestures devastate the mountains

environmental consciousness surveys the carpet. clean air is naturally rampant in the trailer parks explicit injustice. we arrive on our feet, just in time. plastic materiality facilitates our entrance into a change. sort the creative projects by types of occupation and prettiness. to sever the meanings from their initial elevations, we serrate our collective observations, arbitrary individuals transmuted by assignment.

jim leftwich
01.10.2017

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lure and don't

a tolerant social soup combs the dominant ecology. batten the spoons! bait lunar parking now! they are the envy of their own messages.

jim leftwich
01.10.2017

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a gaggle of doors

paved and bitten coats, coils bloom, the kittens loom and blur. dance like it pays to be as high as a mode of China. fate is local and it leaks from the chin. pour the sauce precisely, from its finite center. so soon the air we studied, overtly slants and glancing.

jim leftwich
01.10.2017

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skate-agents quandary

diploma oblique vitamin? out in the rented quad they are dancing in their bones. tunnel eyes throat-kitchen, exists without the sensations of livestock, haunted by poison, porch, obelisk, giraffe, table-saw, leveraged personae, solvent, termites, suspension of disbelief, the view from under a boot beside the bridge. "i know it's the same village. we were just here yesterday." permission to sort quotidian lumps.

jim leftwich
01.10.2017

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the pasts aslant

the long soul televised trout-dance, mold, turns and pours the scent into the lamp. the doors are torn, the lions are loose in the lean salon.

jim leftwich
01.10.2017

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lunar in cameo peril

with an estranged cannibal up his sleeve. hope is ecstatic, persuaded by rust, spare parts, protection-rackets, the lost sun of the quiet peninsula. context is especially tired of the demands of conventional realism. accuracy fumes. corruption is the negative principle of absurdity and anxiety. balanced, usurps, excursus, finagle variable, Upanishad muttering "Yankees in seven". escape-fetish embezzled the segue. most of their goals are logical and securely abandoned.

jim leftwich
01.10.2017