i make a glove out of my eyelid and catch your eye from across the room:
How is everyone? I ask the candlestick on the dresser for local whereabouts for burning
in this side of town, conditions for melting in this changing climate
Which shakes loose a new layer of flaccid earth every morning, who leaves a piece of the arctic at my feet every night as a reminder of my
worldliness. Of the world hidden after clothes and cellphone spit sunlight
i travel many places, hold only one memory
Drop the question heavy as oxidized coins in a hungry piggybank
or a fishtank on which i glue my never-landed sights to
for method-acting. this performance makes up time. Plays God, cultivator of the ocean, fish aficionado
–coins which clink-clink like two ice cubes bumping hips in a champagne glass
saved for a quieter day–
How's the husband? In grade school it was me
Girl husband who pinched a house of love from grainy wet sand and pink and purple pails and fake cooking appliances and watery affection
fake only in the absence of a sweaty eight-year-old grip
a synonym for magic cauldron, shooting star
And the kids? a child is nothing more than the sand filling the bucket
the offspring of dry palm kissing slick one
and the spark produced by witch's brew; the sun threatening to eat the planet
i fold lashes and pull tassels through a ribcage
A seatbelt
For the kids to hold on to
my picture appears on the dashboard, near the window
Every time you loosen your grip on
control
–
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