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on a sunday, a sunny day under a sky changing in a restroom
at a rest stop, and then on a coke which you have swirling in a can
and bubbles don't burst because no one smiles sharp enough;
i'll go first, i'll ask: if you know where you are?
and here i'm hanging my feet to dry off on a rusted bench
in a park. there ain't no poetic bone tingling but there's something
more in the late night cough splitting into a white universe,
a cassette braided into a cherry blossom's branch
raining blossoms on blooms and giggling into crooked elbows.
is this where a poem ends & poetry becomes a blue-eyed beauty
tossing rose gold curling smoke into a summer night where summer never ends?
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my muse: frank o'hara's ON HAVING A COKE WITH YOU. read this poem? yes? no? go read it then!
a/n: i've found so many awesome poets in the course of a few days here on wp so if you wanna check it out then go to my reading list titled 'celophane celosia' & show them love!
