i’m somewhere yellow, to crochet a
childhood, where
hearts
thump rivers. you’re there, in silken
gown, frowning
over
marshmallows. i pitch a chestnut, to
receive a gesture,
and
laugh loudly. the stars are dreaming,
filled with spirit,
cleaving
to space. we ground coffee beans, lost
for engines,
to use
silk. i awake, to sweaty palms, a clammy
feeling.
earth is so
fast, to crawl through midnight, invested
in strangers.
i
picture for perfect, as rounded as tares,
a bit clumsy.
i fall,
and there you are, chewing on a fib. i
reach forward,
and
reappear, filled with furnace. its ink
and asphalt, to
chisel an
image, to purchase a bush. the canvas welts,
to
sketch the
margins, and focus terrors. you sing for ashes,
to squelch the sadness, to witness
madness. i reappear, a tiny
erring,
scratching software. ants form by
pattern, to reap for
waves, an
odor free bullet. life is pictures, and
bright black
colors, plus
a woman saying, “Mommy.” i can hear a
chuckle,
barely a
toddler, reaching for saltines. there’s
water, and
father’s palm,
sprinkling my scalp. i sneeze, where
mother smiles, such
fey and touch.
