The Tag End

And living-rooms aren’t lava suddenly one year--- the bales stacked up for a children’s maze--- unicursal, cul-de-sac, spiral storm. hints at one junction asking: are you stumped yet here? So felling a tree just for that, I too was just that... but later, driving a nail by hatchet you didn’t know if I was, making any sense that way--- in the look an optometrist gives riving apart the lines. And waking up, I cracked a joke: your arm’s in my rest, I said, watching you sleep. And as the game goes, unfrozen is someone passing through you; frozen is someone’s touch. So open your mouth to drown or not to drown the trick is not touching what’s everywhere. This love-seat leap, this ottoman isle and our hints are folded neatly at the junctions. Run through it while, I say, god knows where it’ll all be tomorrow