by Ryan Buynak
appeal to hammers,
we will gallop west
for soup and paychecks
only returning in two Junes
to where the trains exit the earth.
even if her werds
broke some palace,
and we all put it back together
you will still see the cracks.
an inexplicable act of self destruction
dressed in fine satin and lace,
the world to me,
and each bluest blue is mine,
hidden among the mornings that mourn.
jones love question marks within wet weather,
from the first time our eyes shook hands
we were more than just moments;
listen to a certain song
and do not give it to anyone else.