3/1/12

day/day/day

your ears are on the floor.

i treed your mouth            remind it
how to bay but
it only coughs mapache, mapache.

well mettled over and lacking acutely
i set out to track you back     through time,
resculpt the deadweight wax - 

the scent river trickled                cold
some time around a bare-faced day
six years ago maybe, your shoes off

so i tune fine synesthesia whiskers,
seek your rubbings on the yonders -
the boulder vibrations               dissolved
to a sandy detritus to sift, to sieve

for battered membranes
punched out by dadding.
                feet in mud with grass
                growing up through them.
hours dripping off
the nose of a lonely bottle.

i may find, might fight my way back
or hunt blue-faced through
grease puddle unframed prints.    clutching
artifacts wetly.
a ward. a t-shirt
worn a                       first day -
hole in one breast -
unwashed in a coon’s age

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