get out your needle-point pliers
and turn the bolt of my doubt
to it's farthest right.

i want to believe in a $10
savannah, georgia bus-trip
with paper-sack lunches
spotted grease bottomed,
holding onto each others thighs
each time a bump interrupts our napping.

but there is no place for wandering.
i am bent on delivering the blunted arrows
of your archer's hip.
"we cannot do this forever."
"some day we will be grown."
"the tired lines under your wilted eyes show your age."

uppack your hobo stick.
spread out the hand-me-down rug.
we will light the wicks under our desires
for a year more, tops.
and then, what?

we will buy swedish furniture
and pretend we like doing taxes.

03/22/2011

Posted on 03/23/2011
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