you only commit to illusions like me
pulling fists from my pockets
but they’re bees
in your stomach
your mouth is full with the honey of my language
yes, it’s Crimson and Clover
dripping over and over
you ran up the alp to whip your heart in shape
but worked too hard
it’s over zealous
you caught a bird in your hands
who flew you south for the winter
now your blood’s with the crows
and you’ll never learn my syntax
I’ve been on the road for two weeks without doing laundry anywhere but the sink.
I brought a white flowy tunic specifically for Arizona.
Now the cuffs are tan in Denver.
my laptop clicks when it opens and I wince because I’ll need a new one,
but I gave my money to the waiters in Tempe.
I’m drinking Folgers in a borrowed mug,
thinking about Minnesota.
the three of us uncovered a classroom skeleton in playground sand
just the left arm, no shoulder
i wanted the rest of it
later that day i took a knife to my throat
cut a paper thin circle. Shoved a sponge down those froggy tubes
and pulled it back out
i wasn’t going to be sick anymore
then i tossed the arm in a garbage bin
with the sponge, put my skin back on
and the three of us rode on tiny bikes around the village.