Wednesday, March 20, 2013

we watch and no one knows: the other one knows: the back door.

rows of wine corks
rolling on the kitchen floor
kids roaming
through the groceries
the barren brown bags -
already scanned

they see it all - unfurl
like scarfs of windows
pulled by light only to be
struck blind
but shadowed first

the spin-in sensation
puts holes in our shoes
before we board the boat-like bed
with her white-feathered
headrest
each calendar day squared off
no need for seatbelts

really

no need to shift the lonely walls
which hold our dark hiss and cool fingertips

no need to stir the nothing's and all the years before -
we forget it







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