Belly hairs
Stiffened outwards

Inside the deep wash of dry baseboard-heatered air


It’s good.
To think back sometimes


With waxy cuticles     against the chapped    
    lip’s
open
    curl

You throw my shape on the ceiling and walls/
It’s a fury that burns with cascading light.
Jittering inside the rooms we fold together for each other

It’s quick and flash-like.
Striking often,
We are strobe centers for hot fingers of electricity searching outwards in molestation of the quiet august night.

Y

The hungry wind prodding the meat on my bones to measure its tenderness
Tugging at my outer garments and tracing its icy fingers across the folds .and reaching further into my
(core)

We cook slowly in the dusty window light
Splitting apart as we dry out, [denaturing our lignin ]
As the hazy rays sweep up

They will be scrawled across the floor and our bodies
Like the thin pencil marks of man made gesture

In the shapes cast about us
Wheeling
As
Only
We can

No good news is the news - and
The witches’ brew
Bubbles over
again

Flanger fire .
Dragon spire
Call me .crash me .cook me inside
And over and over, I rolled
Down the grassy hills. Down the dying dirt.
Down with man and his upheld promise
Breaking bread beside me
Bedtime brain rot binds me

Hold me. Hurt me. Hit me, hurry, with something good.
Or at least better
Than
it’s been

It’s crass enough out there
Without your green scaly eyes
Take some time. Prepare a surprise. Make me feel alive.

It’s about time for us to finally
explode.


It’s about time we took the *******
End their ****-eating grins

Skin head ****-faces must die

The spermicide in your voice
The sink drain spinning
     .After much coaxing


The hair clumps climbing in bromine drips

As the acid burnt label’s yellowing edge
Waits for  further  corrosion  in the cabinet

As we seek to photosynthesize.  Into greater     limbs reaching

We shed the jitters

Humble before the promise of our own smallness

We feel the growth in our bones.

Thin.

Not yet as a door.

Not as an ear.

Not yet as a scar.

Not yet as a shadow.

Not yet as a self.

Yet.

Yet.

The ebbing

Of your eager look

As we roll our eyes,

And are no longer noticed.

.

We walked up and down the driveway

Each pace, a page turn
Bringing distance : One dog-eared creasing, by one

Sharp stones skittering bird-like and brittle

We speak
My un-doctored photos

Hanging beside

We swing, as juniper
We shuffle

Caught in a barking fit
As the trucks roll by, rumbling up dog feelings.

Hands clasped together in mutual observation

As the moon swallower slithers legless    in its embryonic mess