Sometimes I am in some times like times some
razor clock hand slit like dying farm birds
and other times I could but speak
of the cloud's shadow speech concerning
other times.

It is too late for pretext,
you leave your reading clothes
where they're donated to the war.
The great weak widows frail in house
and desperate in home will rise
to collect the garments of your luxury
just as the policemen came
and beat your grandmother with a hose.
Your context is a foot bloodying
your magazine rack, your meaning
just lost in tragic circumspect traveling
to the safe parts of the world
known as insane asylums by the dangerous.

Sometimes, other times.

In other times, sometimes
swept female hair licking wind with perfume
and embrace's velvet voice singing nonsense
at his and her's melodic choice,
their audience not made from eyes
but others who touched touch in a kiss's
red woman whirl, in the wind's strutting
through free fall hearts pulling on love's
parachute twirl,
above everything
though with everything above,
a feeling like that.

Do not make me compare the contrast
this time, other times it has cried my
tears. Sky, bird, sky, plane. Burning
houses with flaming wind and rain.