diagnosis: chair

walden freeman

we pitched our tents like we pitched our ideas:
into the field at the bats we caved in to
what we thought smelled of burning wood
was a quiet town with a thousand spare tongues

and we shot our black and white films
between the eyes in panther pink
camouflaged by a sunset sky
why aren't our red carpets turning gray too?

so we can throw our weight
like we threw our elections?
our hearts are trapped in cells
and our clothes wore off

my piece of clay

Is really good. Love the bats and cave, pink panther lines!