They’re selling everything - What good these mottled wings of swallowtail Or elastic reach of a morning sun? Make it fit a pocket or purse beside the loose change or make it gone…. Can’t neatly tuck away forty acre lakes and rose gardens, fit them behind a green sofa – Ka-ching! They’re selling everything… Summer afternoons and the dreams of sleeping babies. Put enough zeros behind a tenner or twenty, heaven finds a new home in Malibu. They’re selling everything…. When it comes time to take a breath of night air, follow the peregrine to the end of the rainbow Uh–oh, they’re wrapped in brown paper, headed south in a panel van. Bull market - they sold everything.
Kinetic Poetry - Subject to change without warning.