but all i have is this black candy & girl talk
2 shoot into the spillways
with
Flatfish X
(who is on crutches)
his crooked smile
still
my favorite
white-noise-labyrinth
crow code
tattooed
we pass the double-wide,
oil patch, and buckshot target
his hands try to mimic wings
some
claim
were
broken
empty
pines
above the water
hair
a perpetual
rorschach shadow
we are the people not in
the paper. we linger in the
empty space. outlined by traces
of ancient ichor, tom toms
& silver insects kept in ivory cases
Flatfish X spots the reflection in my eyes:
wow! hot like the calculus of summer!
he pauses and rubs his winter stubble
even my bones
probably
echo
beyond
myself
into
patches
of rattling
solar moons
riding the lightning wave
of
this field
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