h






Blood-red sofa and pale blue sky, clear blue sky, textureless ocean collage

A finger against an elbow causing an electric shock, magazine fame in silent language

Roped to a dreamy tree, dust on the widow's framed photographs

The room kept locked, the level-headed teeenager, and the retiree who calls you Daddy

Slipping through another's brain like a worm

Crumpling rooms of mantelpiece-people, scrunching all furniture into a ball and tossing it aside

All light becomes bright red.


There is a tangerine in the heart of Africa, but your head bobs like a lemon in the lake

You like to drive fast, and dream of hitting walls, of feeling hot compression

And the funky band sends creamy invisibility sky-high, into a hairnet of oysters



We all go back to school, we call someone God and suck their thumb

And you search for the bottom of Americana

Your ankles as crushable as humble white children

Your head poking foward like a Greyhound Bus

Nothing can be touched, felt or ignored

A million grainy documentaries, none of them true

Circle your tender, pulpy heart like flies





b