IX
|
OPTICS
a row of cardinals adjust their wings, prepare to fly and don’t what tattered red flags for buried electrical belt and if alcohol is a salve instead of the burnt body I had a hard week how am I supposed to understand need- ing a drink how am I not to suck his tongue dry as a starfish in the sun |
ANYONE
Apple flesh curves
to the roof of my mouth. Breath
a serrated knife.
Through blinds, robbed apartments
stack. Turkey carcasses
stripped by dogs.
A pile of boxes
will not unpack itself.
I have learned
to contort. My cough
rattles the ribcage,
rattles
the room
from blank wall
to blank wall.
A key, a knock,
someone calls a name--
I open.
Apple flesh curves
to the roof of my mouth. Breath
a serrated knife.
Through blinds, robbed apartments
stack. Turkey carcasses
stripped by dogs.
A pile of boxes
will not unpack itself.
I have learned
to contort. My cough
rattles the ribcage,
rattles
the room
from blank wall
to blank wall.
A key, a knock,
someone calls a name--
I open.