you can’t take the wire out of the lamb.
when I look you in the eye
I feel my brain
is cared for
under the seat
of a snowed-on
forklift.
to get my son’s attention
I tap with a spoon
on the glass circle
of a running
dryer’s
door.
my son is of course
hungry but in the meat
of a difficult
book.
the night is never young.
to read the book
is to believe
one can see
blood with blood.
at times my father
in the middle of my dream
sits on a riding mower
as if it’s a boat
he dragged
without help
over the parts of this land
feared
by glacier.
part of my body is sad.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
you can’t take the wire out of the lamb.
when I look you in the eye
I feel my brain
is cared for
under the seat
of a snowed-on
forklift.
to get my son’s attention
I tap with a spoon
on the glass circle
of a running
dryer’s
door.
my son is of course
hungry but in the meat
of a difficult
book.
the night is never young.
to read the book
is to believe
one can see
blood with blood.
at times my father
in the middle of my dream
sits on a riding mower
as if it’s a boat
he dragged
without help
over the parts of this land
feared
by glacier.
part of my body is sad.
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