Crow's eye dusk view Second deck, cherry London bus, Displaced in Davis, Ca, like all of us. Cost a quarter, laundromat change, to ride. My rusted 10 speed, lately stolen. Fortuitous. May have missed Matt, Cycling dark traffic. A spectacle, Matt Holck. Blonde hair matted. Black cape starched. Hem brushing curb, Corner of Russel Blvd. Backdrop a cape of mute green field. Waiting for his green light
. His bike lately stolen. Good thing. Cape in spokes not Matt's thing. Cherry red bus streamed down tarmac Like soda out of a glass bottle. Matt shrinking into
his black cape, Talking to himself. Wit or wisdom? I could only surmise. Matt Holck, no cape/hair combed fine, Appeared in my poetry; then a day late, In my
poetry class. They let him add. We walked Davis streets. He talked physics and holograms. Disoriented, I listened to him/slap of feet. At the corn field, oblivious, we fell in. At the ripe age of nineteen Matt Holck gave me magic mushrooms. Sprinklers turned on a manicured Davis lawn. Water hologram; physics high; poetry in broad day light. Just a little obscene, He bid me goodbye.
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Sesquipedaliantique 9 months ago
Crow's eye dusk view Second deck, cherry London bus, Displaced in Davis, Ca, like all of us. Cost a quarter, laundromat change, to ride. My rusted 10 speed, lately stolen. Fortuitous. May have missed Matt, Cycling dark traffic. A spectacle, Matt Holck. Blonde hair matted. Black cape starched. Hem brushing curb, Corner of Russel Blvd. Backdrop a cape of mute green field. Waiting for his green light
TerrorTastic 1 year ago
I've had a burgundy cape and dark blue cape
both velvet and satin lining
but never black
MattHolck 1 year ago
. His bike lately stolen. Good thing. Cape in spokes not Matt's thing. Cherry red bus streamed down tarmac Like soda out of a glass bottle. Matt shrinking into
TerrorTastic 1 year ago
his black cape, Talking to himself. Wit or wisdom? I could only surmise. Matt Holck, no cape/hair combed fine, Appeared in my poetry; then a day late, In my
TerrorTastic 1 year ago
poetry class. They let him add. We walked Davis streets. He talked physics and holograms. Disoriented, I listened to him/slap of feet. At the corn field, oblivious, we fell in. At the ripe age of nineteen Matt Holck gave me magic mushrooms. Sprinklers turned on a manicured Davis lawn. Water hologram; physics high; poetry in broad day light. Just a little obscene, He bid me goodbye.
TerrorTastic 1 year ago