Just north of the flowers,

feeling for my words that feel out of my pocket,

out of my mouth, like broken teeth and i saw them too, escaping me

like broken teeth.

Everyone else as they fell and scattered away like baby spiders, like broken teeth.

Dragging my fingers through the empty air, through my empty mouth.

Then slightly , gently across empty concrete ,

then over the petals and flowers of the potted plant, stroking it like a sleeping dog, feeling for something, reaching for anything.

instead finding only that painted porcelain pot,

the collar of that sleeping dog; an industrial complex.

All of the the bell (s) that goes along with it,

careful to not break anything , or destroy something, and still were coming up short,

were still focusing on the backs of spiders’

and all the young that goes along with it , and the bell (s) , the angel (s).

this one is on my tongue and I’m finding the keyboard soundly, suddenly , sending it into shock and me with it

This is a longer one,

I can feel it around my neck and through my ears and its all too loud,

ticking like a clock, findings words, any word, the perfect one,

with the bells,

with the angels , just north of the flowers.