where the angle of the trunk
allows humans to be silly and reckless
stretching out over
low levels of occasional rapids
high levels of constant laughter
look closely to see
pin pricks speckling the dirt
evidence of the missing conductor
cup both ears to hear
a deafening orchestra
lulling these same humans to sleep on a clean carpet
we wake aurally refreshed after
seventeen years
by
Rounds, Rounds, Rounds, Ingram, Rounds (& Tucker)
June 2021
what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as
the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to
write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing
peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!
is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would
you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love
