Wednesday, June 23, 2010

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

number 8
smoker smell, two dogs,
a dozen black kids. teacher's
voice. we all ride hushed.

why it is i don't write about you

really, it's because
your full name has too many
syllables in it.

i'm watching your band set up
the amplified sound
of wind distorts the myth of
your breath on my neck.

i'm watching you dance

only when falling
does your tattoo right itself
figures holding hands.

untitled #1
lost black hat, fallen
out of my pocket like words
from my mouth, then found.

No comments:

Post a Comment