The Difference Between Lonesome & High Lonesome, Part 1
I have felt a tenderness in the region of women and men, an open
mouthiness. You bird and dog, runneth over the heels/
the heels and plastic wonder bread bags of home. I am yore
Jumanji, lady— why don't you call when I'm near. I act on
habit-tat. I act on everything comes out my mouth.
* * *
No panties or an elastic understanding of sky coming out of
prison-ish meal. Some people love each other
in the back of the house, that green stripe you struggled
home from itself. It glows on the right hand, out of the way
a couch is brought to with afghanings, penny-weights
the eyes. You two are related like animals in cellophane,
a ground beneath the rock. The whole sentence not. Or smell
of not. Call in to that cornhole and see what it's gone.
By the skin of a soapbox a little bird said.
Author Discusses Poems