Kit Kelen #631 - dusted done

631

dusted done

sun in first webs

pledge of spring

little birds tear through

and upside down birds hang out here

ride twig and leaf and sway

a Sunday of months persists

summer is touching

frogs are away

the printed circuit is a ruined city

it’s air rusts all ideas

I am little book lost

run in out of text

in the hum-through-here

I’m static

and the wind says fire

draws autumn on

I live in this delicate machine

do some miracles myself

grass grows over the workings

some days all of the weather will come

mostly though a wind so dry

winter is hiding

far in a tank

only September yet

these are not the real seasons

we have only guessed at the moons

when will we arrive here?

and how much will be left?

insects all begin to queue already

know

I am the skin to cross