, , ,

The stairs look longer from the step

she doesn’t find gravity to be rosey.

As the waves of the future prep

to be rolled against the falling tea cozy.

Her grandmother waits at the floor

to be woken for from her sleep of pozy

a posse full of bobbie’s at the door.

The flat bricks outside of them

representing britanic bore.

They ask her for another schlepp,

but she’s already tasted floor.