eskimo joe

beautiful moth stuck within
the spider web depths of the
crescent, beauteous flame that dares grow
a little, as does the cursive wave evoke its peril

as all limbs are her apparel
truly fifteen pennies just about her
all severed rhythms and jingle songs
worth singing. her dark glances

Shelleyan sense of worth
that she is
five minutes in a clock
that is
time without its limits

as love too blows trees
and hurls cliffs
at her destruction

in this blue veil an airy sense
of aethric grace that i cant but
help get sucked in
her glossy kiss

its sure to miss
him, in the
the
jangled way
but often in the day
in poetry her self
surely would turn
the frozen day
into such bliss
if just for her mystery
that glows Eskimo embers


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