May 3, 2016

we try playing wack-a-mole fleeting certainty


Child with Toy Hand Grenade in Central Park, (1962) New York City 
by Diane Arbus ©




kitty kitty
here is my throat
give me your wrists 
she insists, we tie 
running with scissors  
to a tending of funk 
waxed moonlight 
while herb gathering 

how do we crawl 
the spawn dark 
home passing go 
I ask peering-ly 
she laughs 
leering-ly 
you remember 
the womb poem 
it goes a little 
like a clutched at 
countdown :

phone 
faux pas
blood bank 
heist light  
through night 
until eaten 
with dawn ...

EJR © 

1 comment:

  1. Oh how I love that first stanza. Especially that, "No thanks; I'll take the wrists" part.

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