Jake David

#12 & 34

(All along/boardline/into their sharped circles of persuasion)
To THE SNAKE-turned eyes of a girl
dancing my way with a promise to swim, wandering.
& the Native Tribes placed into the tomb
before our stripes,
to the murdered dawns agree: shout & spin & wink, swinging
madly across the sun before there are no rainbows sleeping.
Before being born into the un-worn corporate t-shirts
& I’m tired of the same, what else can you show me?
What else can I show me?
Take me disappearing through this life,
to dance beneath the diamond-crescent circus clouds
& broken wings still flapp’t the untied canary roads
brought before the demolition of crazy morrows;
& all the war in peace, the twist is a truth passed into
the floods of bloodshores to the nerves of Never regions.
To the cloak beneath your sweet veneer
in the sweating ceremonies of Jupiter’s provocative statue:
Take me a trip to your underground flip-tide Riversands
leaving me blindly here to stand & still just winking,
from a Circus circumstance; without a mind at hand.

Jake David is a Canadian writer living on the border between Cornwall and Massena, N.Y. Not a formally published author, his work has appeared in Writers’ Bloc, The Beat, and has upcoming work in Disingenuous Twaddle. Is incredibly self-centered, likes chewing pens.

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