“Masked Moments”
Guess the day to finally go away
has cultivated and promised you
to painted carnations
another road of disuse
crayon angels and cutting
pieces of the rug where the experience
blood outlines, fists of fur
handfuls of the youthful flowers
only a beast could view
money is the only thing that matters
you’re in a doll’s clothes
but it won’t buy you the spirit to slake
the syrup of the hammock, unfold
cold nights, strong shoulders,
to have to make a business
underneath the spitting ham,
closed-eyed starlets, eerily stiff
and sniff of you, those velvet scents
pouring through a heated vent
triplicate in kisses, hosiery hands
masked bandits, raccoon souls,
paired with the pain of novelty:
summer winks skip seasons,
whatever paints in pants drew you.
nicholauspatnaude 
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