his saliva unzips my flesh
i spill things i have concealed
over the years: a bowl of dark hair
tangled around a fork
a pitcher of your tears
gleaming in the moonlight
a lost button from a shirt
of the child that never was
emptied, i rest in the hot sunlight
where little children plant inside me
sand castles and candy wrappers
when a nearby bird screeches, i flutter --
a fleeting brown dress, a
metallic zip.
The lost child seems like a recurrent theme, I am sure I have read about it in at least 2 of your other works. I wonder if the shape of that poem plays a role, the 8-3-3 makes a coke bottle shape somewhat?
ReplyDeleteNot easy to decipher but the feelings are there and the words are very much your style, wonderful :)