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,
steps,
page by page,
slowly sliding iron-pressed feet across concrete leaves,

they ease over,

235,
236,
237.
he stops,
rests,
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,
alone,
in a drawer