Chipped mug of a man

Stood up, on an incline,
facing down to the out of town.
I watch a candle wick of a man running up, lung bellows pumping faster than our universe expansion.
Passing cars buffeting my stationary form with the rankling tides of imbibed chides.
I'm a drying towel on a washing line, put out after the sun passed by.
Lank and damp, a worn washer,
The bulging drop, tap end friend.
Clamp after clamp,
Peg held tramp,
Crinkle cut,
Chipped mug of a man.
I am an oil paint paper chain, sedated and serrated.
I even break the norms of the deformed.
Unique is a trick word held under water,
A sleight of hand,
Used to carry the rebellious back to shore.


everyday rebellion