B.L.T

I had a hunch recently and became 

aware of sleeves caught in the leifs

Of disengaged

words like thorns torn from mothers 

dictionary are rationed by others obselete 

tongues.

Like back light trees changing yellow bulbs 

for seasonal blue isobars if there was a story 

It was just a alphabetical roadsign that lead

to a chair hidden in plain sight awaiting.

As for childhood fears they appear months 

outmoded Like Sand filled clog’s washed up 

Amongst Sea shelled pine cones beached

Against grains Of a ocarina decomposing 

Alongside spines of ancestors beta mime 

testing vocabulary.

The world of revolving electric atlas 

glue using denialist television set.