Thursday, March 7, 2013

Spit on her hand and make it shake.
Count on her fingers the number of days, weeks, months he’s been gone.
Dig up the glass from the garden and place it by your bed.
Watch the steel cool.
It doesn’t need to be true, I repeat.
And let the inventions lather under my scalp.
Under my tongue and nails.

 
Yawn so big your jaw can cradle the moon.
Swallow it whole and let its lavender glow fill your throat.
Stretch so far into the universe you can reach your heels.
Watch the meal cool.
It doesn’t need to be true, I repeat.
And let the serpent fidget inside my chest.
In and out of my knees and knuckles.


Place your feet in the wagon.
Count how many shoulders are gradually favoring the trees.
Stop looking for an electrical connection and lick your fingers.
Watch the moon cool.
It doesn’t need to be true, I repeat.
And let the red wheels carry my back.
Away from my nerves and hips.


Sam

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