Monday, March 28, 2016

draft

and in the distance, lightning

after losing all meat beneath both wrists,
she sends me gloves, a zippo, pairs of needles(both hollow &
knit)--

dang. and here i thought bar cruel, her stool
the only flat on tilted salt lick floor;
a man and his horn, shoulder blades in neon light
the cross-stitch click of glass and ice.

that night. know better. without my fists i cannot shake you.
telephone pole licorice and piled cumulous, illuminate.
i sit a curled brick, passenger seat. moon wants in, her gold teeth
putting waves in the river.

let it all.

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