#95

Repairing for the after-life. White sun. White nerves that herd in previous patterns, remember. The voice. Alight in ordered sounds and dimmed. Red, red rises. The figurative or that which looks not well in words of mine. Here, the hair that's browned. The heir to grey or bald tomorrow, here. We loafe, we loll. We rear in even turns tomorrow. And for - I say! - the after-thanks. Ear to ear, and through. My eyes each open, black, in taking.

Oh boy, the shelter! Nickeled and named in soft through-light. S'no cupidity. Loans and living, ay. A red, red letter rises. A grant, at least, the back of bricks and wood. And am I long and green in growing? Beneath a seal or down. On roof. That's off, that's quoted. There above you, high. *Signal* post, and sign.