We tried to find some words to aid in the decay, but none of them were home inside their catacomb.
the sky is blue.
the wall is blank
my eyes are slate
your lips are pink.
the inside of your mouth is red
and white and christmastime
i found you.
is hanging chandelierlike
from the white, night ceiling.
the elevator rises,
piano asks to dance.
in dark rooms
ghost stories float
amid fat arms snug in plush
I'm a boat aiming straight at the gold-fringed shore, apple dappled, neath gold-fringed clouds. I write volumes, tuck in ribbon bookmarks at my favorites. I wait patiently, rocking on the green blue tide, nearer my god to thee nearer to thee
your lips are pink
and full, and white
your teeth, and black the islands
in your green blue eyes. has there ever been anything
sounded so beautiful?
in the backseat both your large awkward
hands touch mine,
we are touched by a song and glimpse the truth
in the silhouettes outside the glass
just before it scampers through the brush.
Glossy black and ivory
Drop beauty at your
Fingers: the leaves
light and music
lure and fade lure and fade the
smell of maple syrup and sweet
grass. on your bed the comforter is plaid
and heavy and soft and warm and good
and your mom never finds out i never
go to the other room.
your heart was tangled up
and conversations swirled in infinite cocoa circles
Landing I discover the shore throbs as much as the sea. Why does it beat like the ocean? Palpitating I notice that the gold on the shore merely reflects the clouds. The apples have worms.
"let's prank phone call somebody. let's
fake our deaths up here and someone will come driving
up and we'll be doused in ketchup, and they
will scream and then we'll jump up and laugh
the shingles are brittle and steep.
what if i rolled off would you roll up your long
sleeves roll after me
Blazing smoldering branches drop
Cannonballs on the
Earth: the keys
On the walkway beside a park bench, they blow up in a little tornado and get crunched beneath someone's feet. They are mangled and their thin sensitive little edges are punched in with wrinkles and welts. Someone walks on. They are glad, imprinted with the shape of the bottom of the shoe.