after the game

after the game, came a flock of blue birds

riding on the white horse towards the grey horizon

as if a glimpse of sunlight can be caught in a net made of straw

so bright and so pure

the off-white so beautiful in my memory

the sound of an old wretch playing the tattered violin

and the onlooking giraffe sipping espresso

lust has been unbuttoned,

after the game

-xion, april fourteenth, twenty-ten