bullets or butter

bullets or butter, the campaign must continue
as the 35 year old man is weened from his mothers breast
The wars continue, and there sionly natural catastrophe
to make this world complete. Last night a murder of ravens
and the full monn kepping me awake, the house is
too warm for early witer--I crave the chil and the ice
I prefer the aurora speak to me in purple ribbons
of telepathic communication, like two lovers
who admire one another from afar,
the twilight of stars, and the wink from
a strangers eye, the comet passes,
the moon lingers on new ice, this morning
a single raven listens to my radio, it is stilkl
hot, the windows are open, a few snow flakes fall
the dog lets out a pathetic howl
notzahia and the kids drive the mid october valley
in the white volvo, she must nurse her friends baby
dad sits home sick, sipping coffee and giving up procrastination
for good. tomorrow I'll start my memoir, write a play,strum the guitar...