she’s sinking stones. the noise
i can’t control, but her laughter
noise, maybe. drills my eardrums—
i can’t unclasp it. evaporate this
lake for some
peace of mind. then i wouldn’t
have to chisel out all the stones
from her head. coughing up
saltwater. god, women, always
so noisy !
what if i am struggling to
get rid of myself ? she painted
over my brick wall. she
asks me, says you are
disposable watermelon,
nothing but a five & a half
sided die, you are putting
your teeth across me !
my sunday is replaceable
stays a while & whimpers
i stuff its skull into a gift
box. salted bones, no more
fashioning a liquid cure. tissue
paper & rotten meat.
seven degrees is not more palatable
faux fur coat has got its issues: not
exactly a rubber hazmat suit. the
women are always unassuming. i smile
at her, she’s reinventing herself.
sit next to me & i’m placid. i wanted someone to protect
if nothing else
the shape of this poem. the waterhole
is filling up again.