#2

This bore a(cross)
some shred of remembering
boring in
or maybe turning

the purple mercury of couple making it
in the backyard grass
a brick alley an arrow a fleck of skin

or a trap folding in and back out
plumbing without an attitude
for attitudes sake

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some calipers and a bottle of water
french dinner things

the swift trickling of heat
a crack
in the
door

the note of leaving
and the charm of circumferences

tricking him is the best way

the architect is in love with you
so stop fiddling with the shingles

or spell-checking clouds
they don't listen
get heavy & think with spice rings

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I'm still sitting
with my finger
a gun
but not my gun

i don't buy again drinking problems
or that fly-gate
the clumping mold and
the dead field mice

where did they come from

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i possess hills looking damaged and boring
and that gun
it's my hand now still

an arrow a fleck of skin

dividing timid eyes from breathe

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the workers hands
bear drills and holes
a match or two

luckily we hear bells

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and the guns a home under seasoned

my voice calm for a second
consider not rolling your r's
all night

we are trying to get some sleep out here