i can only pull truths onto fishing line
in popcorn rows after hours;
orbits completed around
our bodies.

half an arm, lung edged on
a twin bed with two opposites
shaped like strange roots,
dressed and pinned in a spread.

blessed breathing, shallow to deep,
continues a drawn explanation;
weighted, indebted urgency
to push past and create distance.

eyes on the wandering back
plowed trenches, poured fire.
lips which make oleander circles
go round and touch silent ends.

05/03/2008

Author's Note: edited 6/12/08

Posted on 05/04/2008
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