Guy R. Beining

 

 

 

TAKE ME OVER THE WHEEL OF IT

i am going with plaster molds.
in chin rest of days tumbling over each other.
what is mundane is the rain, &
a fiery crowd that will not make
the hill, where joints of houses collide
toward a fat church that holds
too big a corner of things.
spilling the cup of the cat meowing,
making milk leak as that carpet of night.
nothing to train on, but that metal canary
bought by granny in a delancy shop.
it was once mechanical, & could
pick up sunflower seeds, so big was its beak.
its jaws died wide open.
how many packages of sound have
since exploded around me?

Copyright 2004 Guy R. Beining.  All Rights Reserved.

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