poems about antics

your flag was a raised voice
after my outstretched mime
stands between you and the door
outwards the street is painted whitefaced in noon

there's a kickstand to this wait time
come forth with arms
guns badly drawn

thankfully the hand grenades
of my youth never went off

but fathered cities of dirty bombs to wreak havoc
and in plane view
why don't you nary a mice town)

o grant that 1000 allahs
will bestow fire on the horizon at dawn
as happenstance becomes always
in turntables of history
armistice of Aleijadinhos
silky voiced narration (o comes out of zeroed mouths)

we, meaning I and the horse that
augers well outside for what are holes

we can landscape a road in chalk and give
forth a name in cursive earth
but turn the page is forget

the author's voice
vice-accompanied the storyline
which fades like doves
or cinnamon on the tongue

if i had icy fresh breath
i could place a check
after one of the following
_rule the earth
_redraw maps
_make an afternoon into a bldg. block
and fit it sq. into round

backyards are birthplaces

this swears by trees
few gospels short of a gondola
when still we are alone