Sunday somewhere

next to heaven

unbags a trowel

where rainy day birds

thumper clatter & scour.


Darkness hitches

into darkness

treading, threading

through wonder & wooze

heart’s stakes, unexcused.


Tar & sugars

memory coated grits

fiendishly lit,

balloons that burn

a cross a manger a sea –


But it’s only a bird’s nest?

(Package warns —

comes pre-heated.)


Sunday plumbs

graphite covered

aproned thumbs,

for what’s left to burn

where’s that winded

joss stick –


Bird calls and prayers

that still crack & whiff

& dust the skin

from brink to rim.


Sunday digs

& shovels,

packs it back in

heart shaped

& pebble tossed,

sly enublious tin.

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