SequenceNo3

there was a little girl, mine or someone else's but loved all the samecradled in my arm she pointed up between stars and clouds at the sickle moon pasted like a milky sky-smile on the darki could not look for long the height was dizzying and i did not want to drop the child. i set her down as if a crystal glass and gazed back up at the zenithsome secret of its light sent me overflowing with bold compassion so i embraced everyone in the streets i held them like i could fix them all and they were savedthen the ardor was gone like lighting oil on a rock and trying to keep the flamei do not know where my fire goes

I wish I could feel the grip, be the gripBecause some days in my mind it drops Every timeAnd the flock in me rises Like a riot false-starting off the lineI make up breadcrumbs even though I know it holds Only pebblesWhy?

I didn't want to make this pie but I'll eat it with youand Let's not open any more weird pumpkins

A million cloud-ghosts descending Dealing paranoia with ominous air Killing daylight and birthing spiders And that awful, nostalgic fearA feeling so tangible You could almost pull it from my body But it was stuck between The wet streets and dying leavesAnd when you got lost in the corn maze Trying to remember sun and thaw A flock of ravens eating bones Was the last thing you ever saw

sunlight tumbles through windows, sleeping contentedly on fleece blankets and yousinging and playing through the forest in your eyes, hair cascading over cheekbone and pooling in mouth cornerstiny goosebump shadows on freckled alabaster except for where your hands rest, it is warm and smooth there like river rocks that skip soft over polished watersunbeam swims over mirrors never breaking, ripples never reaching wooded shore, chest rise and fall blowing cool forest wind rise and fallfalling past edges of mattress and sprawling body this glow does not know the curves where my hands lie, keeping the darkness safeas it drips down hillsides le...

I practice holding my breath because after this kiss you will be absent from my lungs from my thousand mile radius in which I grow lavender, waitingfor the fragrance to spiral through bedroom windows (yours) and you, capturing the essence deeply breathe it into fragile jars sending them back to line my shelvesI take from them sparingly, smilingly, effervescence filtered through your living skin each time my body euphoric but never deciding whether to melt or burst

Tonight fits me like the comfort of oversleep but not as well as sheets over us some lazy Saturday I almost forgot because of minutes and milesThe smell of this air is ozone and wet salty driftwood and the asphalt of an entire city sweating out the day’s sunlightIf my arm were around your perfect hip as I surveyed chain link and trains crashing below sweet dead grass and the sparkling marina I’d point with my other hand out there At the end of my gesture the black of the waves lapping six inches under our levitating bodies hopelessly intertwined pillows of reflected moon cradling heavy headsI try not to dream as the Sound rocks us to sleep

He shifts his eyes, hard and grinds flax between incisors licking at what feels like old clay Beetle brown seeds, now earthy grit Swarming through saliva darting for the esophagus like water striders He swallows forcedly as all the moisture escapes his mouth Leaving a plywood palate, corn husk lips, cotton ball tongueAnd memories of lush grass cool stream shady forest Mosses so full of rain they drip like sacred fountains Green leaf beaded with dew Silver platters tumbling with melons and citrus and berriesDreams of how it was before the birds started crying like chainsaws