Saturday, January 22, 2011
Second Life
Amanda is turning ghostly as a line
inscribed in that wordy book.
Wretched tracks. She offers a thinly veiled
sympathy.
And serenely trims the message.
Lowing on those downloaded hills.
Bent to parks. Standing before turtles, where the conical
washes blank. Outworn
Amanda. She peddles and spins.
Selecting the plump boils
on the song’s enterprise. Amanda
doesn’t hope to tack
from dim until dark. A rout
shows her home.
She seethes in browns. She has shone
to a dilating shore.
But Amanda stays. Given, dull memories
fester enjoyably, but
she balks. Who is Amanda
playing with and leading
up to bedtime? Amanda
declines while vanishing.
Dowdy as always.
Amanda. Merely formed.
Comes up to the knee. Changed
outward and sees. Building
Amanda. One to play.
One to buy. A penny’s worth,
A piping wreck. She’s
brushed, and pinned to Amanda.
Amanda is turning ghostly as a line
inscribed in that wordy book.
Wretched tracks. She offers a thinly veiled
sympathy.
And serenely trims the message.
Lowing on those downloaded hills.
Bent to parks. Standing before turtles, where the conical
washes blank. Outworn
Amanda. She peddles and spins.
Selecting the plump boils
on the song’s enterprise. Amanda
doesn’t hope to tack
from dim until dark. A rout
shows her home.
She seethes in browns. She has shone
to a dilating shore.
But Amanda stays. Given, dull memories
fester enjoyably, but
she balks. Who is Amanda
playing with and leading
up to bedtime? Amanda
declines while vanishing.
Dowdy as always.
Amanda. Merely formed.
Comes up to the knee. Changed
outward and sees. Building
Amanda. One to play.
One to buy. A penny’s worth,
A piping wreck. She’s
brushed, and pinned to Amanda.
// posted by George Manka @ 11:26 AM 
