Sunday, December 28, 2008

Last Night I Was a Child in a Drawer

A child alone in a field.
Mouth full of candy,
Mouth full hay,
Mouth full of flies and cherries,
with pits of white sands,
a desert of white hills
that roll like a child’s tongue singing.

A grey silhouette,
page by page,
slowly sliding iron-pressed feet across concrete leaves,

they ease over,

he stops,
buckles the pages,
shelves. A tongue

slowly caressing the lower rim of a lip, a parking garage of movement,
ascension spiral,
dabbing, smearing, and ingesting
the last drops of cherry excrement sliding down
a face.
The streetlights have come on, and I am a child,
in a drawer

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