And we have begun by whispering your time

Oh no. The time and the place are all one now. Oh goodness. I guess a poem now…

We are under just a wrapper of ourselves,
our asses hanging out
like whisper against the ground-
stone at night that paves our driveway.

I, under assumption, have you railed
against the nailing chandelier made
up of warm pebbles during dusk
and fearing.

We all stood outside during rain
but none of us questioned our methods.

We had what was called a mother
and we used a railing
like all of the motherfuckers
but we never put or re-put our fucking mouths
back into brightly colored clipboards.

I have to remember this:
I stand on my own shitpile
(one word is shitpile)
and have only the stomped ground
compressed like organs

tuned to counterpoint.