Sunday, June 18, 2017

auras.

cherry, the overfelt red,
is on
overdrive: "me and stacey

go everywhere together."

high hopes

that my lover, horizontal line, a
former paramedic,
will notice our son has his eyes. high hopes he will return.

tongue has left sesame street. not to say
i swallow
my young, rather, he matured past me, repulsed
by his relating to me, and left.

we put a spoon on his naked body to
keep him warm through

these harsh winter nights. it got me to stay in place, underneath, birthing a
new wild animal everyday.

“thou art not mine,” i abandon
each of them, each, a cop, upon

my ritual i've got worked out: trust fall to the floor
with a socialist salute.

i've learned to prefer the company of tile.