prairie girl, home for the summer
                    steals ceramic eyes to shade
         sunrises of gasoline kisses -
                    she lies underneath and counts
                             each, whilst marveling at snow-
                             globe winds and birds that can't
                             fly.

yellow clouds
     kiss
          smokey skies  
          awake as I wait for you.
I swear
    there are lighter winds
    this time and that peach
    is not a suitable smell but
No matter,
You're gone and   ~
                                      I'm so tired. My lips have
                                      cracked in anticipation of
                                      your kiss.
                                      \
but ******* it, when you come back you will
love me, I've decided it. You'll be smitten,
You will ache.

We were crazy.
he and i.
We'd cut ourselves with rocks to see
whose blood would run the fastest,
It was hailing and we went for a swim.
Nuts.
He said he had a rope. He said
there's two Smith and Wessons in his ******* closet.
I kissed him.
No favorite colors,
We'd lie in the shade of synagogues and under the blaze
of search lights, a couple of lost springs. Picking me
up around the corner so they wouldn't see, he'd
tumble his bike so that we'd fly and i'd scream.
Beautiful.
He said for us to run away. Never sweat. He said let's
run, let's ******* run. He said shut the ******* door.

I run. Run away. He doesn't like me to. He had a rope
and there's two Smith and Wessons in his closet.

iii.

it doesn't matter
how i wear my body
anymore.
if i can't give you
a pleasant sight,
i can also eat
your eyes out for you.

Leaves fell
          p
            er
              p
                e­
                  tu
                    al
                    ­  ly
                               as we
didn't,
BuT I (your ardent lo>er)
Choose to smite
                         the indigenous winds and
                         forests' unpledged palates with
: A Stony Subjection:

I thought of killing myself because I am only a bricklayer
      and you a woman who loves the man who runs a drug store.

I don't care like I used to; I lay bricks straighter than I
      used to and I sing slower handling the trowel afternoons.

When the sun is in my eyes and the ladders are shaky and the
      mortar boards go wrong, I think of you.

She is looking out the window

again. Wishing for there to be

no window. That she could feel the

tumbles of pittering rain droplets as they

run with the wind. On her face. She

thinks on how her autumn-harvest

hair would plaster against her pinked-out

cheeks and jaw and lips. She

watches, seemingly unable to forget her

evening plans. It's down to her mother's

black silk or the leopard-skin

gloves, but both are ripped and she

doesn't know how to sew. She

isn't tired. She's exhilarated. Ready to

feel the rain and wind and trees sail

across her face and down her neck. She

sits and watches through glass panes as skies

whip clouds like batter.