the gunshot pitter
Pater of little feet little wing
old Cream records
once pants where longer than life
Err larger than life with a cockney accent
Litt’el Wing…
my music used to sound like a crackle
atomic record players awaken to sonic tribulation
and work through
Clapton jams
who is like god isn’t Michael
but Pele haloes over flips a bicycle
but impassible the tough flavor of favelas
a goal Icarian for a 16 year old kid away from home
I know behind Pele’s smile
Maradona across a mirrored table
awaits the hand of God
boca full of sugarloaf, Iguazu, guarani, Machu minus Atahualpa sunsets
history rebuffs
admit it: some
grandfathers
were rapists with little wings
god’s everyone: director, producer, screenwriter, garbage collector. Exterminator.
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