Unwrapped boogie bitchslap

chewing gum like butter...

from the ashes of the evening to
the rocks jumped on repeatedly
tostampthefireout,
I have so many
tasks to perform that crashing my kite
into the history of my body
is a dance, an arduous task.

It seems nice but
it's not getting on well
the flight interrupted by a beggar singing
a happy rendition of "Rocky Racoon"
on Spring Garden Road,
one-upping my assertion and change.

For what would they say
if they knew my flight was interrupted
and they could discern in my face
the frozen essence of my loss?
3 months of frost, a racoon on the yellow line...