Friday, November 02, 2007

People are Starting to Get Arrested

how you follow me
that purpled oil slick shining

I don’t bother to close the door
I squat inside, my head near the handle

the botanist is curious
rattles the doorknob for hours

I let those girls lick our noses clean
I make a cradle of my hands
and steal her hotdog

her small hand presses on my wrist,
has feathers for hair, slight webbing

I can’t stop myself from putting
my tongue on the small of her name

as I watch the records burn,
our lips bruised with grape soda,
she slips the latch down

maybe I’m full of 12th graders
making and selling paper flowers

this is the letter I thought you had read

1 comment:

Russell Ragsdale said...

This is so surreal. But it is strangely intimate, like sleeping with Dali with your eyes closed all the time and just listening to intimate thoughts. I loved it. This was the letter I am reading over and over!