Monday, January 28, 2013
As a baptist, I've decided
To call pest control on myself.
So began a fine summer's spittoon.
What are you yelling for? What do you say?
I spat out carpenter's glue and asked for you.
You came, as grumpy as you sounded on the phone.
Rub me, I said. I'm sticky, I said.
I looked at my feet.
I looked at my neck.
I looked at my hair.
I raised my gaze higher and higher.
There are the windows of the clay people,
There the second story
Of the man with the angry face
Who shook his face
Like a spring-cleaned rug
All over the yard.
The stone crumbles into a red face.
Whoever he may be, let her come to him
Stretched out by long red boots and increate.
I have a Hummer made of rubies and rare steak.
In the high gaze of my heart, I see
A microwave gathering moisture.
And so I walked up to the Hummer
That stood in the soup of the field
And flung its doors open to me.
There past the tree staring sadly are you.
For the fourth time I ask,
Can you save me? The shore is nearby.