Hard

These speckets of days
have been labeled as
the times the sun,
occluded by
downy nests
sat
drinking anise liquor
resignedly,
from a
hawkish
floating tumbler.

Why does her always say
why?

Below,
simpering
and right on schedule,
a chorus of peacock
kettles
fretfully
beg for
half naked
understanding.

Gloomyriders,
bundled
in
peevish
vapors
remain
unconvinced
yet
determined to fly.

Say why does him always
scream why?

Yes,
the menacing closeness
and territorial mouth
of
mechanical buffalo's
is omnipresent.

Yet,
how quickly graveled
twists
and
arrogant neeighhhhss
did
take thee down!

Record this.
Put it there.

The delicate frame,
and ready breath
forgotten in a lick
and
with a wily gesture...
...barely a gasp
the beginning
of this hardness
threads it’s eye.

Tell they,
why does them always
moan
why?

Put it down.
With a strong headwind
and icy rain pellets,
transition on the seat
and keep in
undifferentiated awareness.

Tell my then
why?
Her
is one way to
be in this mess.