Alone astride anti-time
As real as orioles or limestone
On an astral noise sea
Days meld into miles melted
And inertia is a name
Or a denial
Intense demon tainted lanterns emit sad and sooty
Solid as nines and tens
Enameled rites are renamed mania and tailored radio dials
Set to terminal
Deny no minister
Yet admit no sinner
Mainline star destroyer looms distant and rote desire yearns stormily
Steroidal data toys trade instant moon loot and slide into loose misty lies in Latin
Ornamental moonside lites ride Saint Nitro style on serial toads and iron roads
Similar to daisy metal or dime store attentions in misery ratio
Dainty slanted ions stand eternal
Laid to a name or loaned and rented
On terms same as altered eras, lost rain, steel trees
Roots and rose
Moot island termite
In a year’s time
Too many days inside
David Mark Speer is a writer and poet from all up and down the Eastern seaboard (Miami, Atlanta) who currently resides in Brooklyn. His work includes a chapbook, Space & Direction: Grand Island, Nebraska and many essays and poems for the last decade or so in a literary magazine called Sunday.