Thursday, April 30, 2009

don't dig
their pink hooves
into the steadfast heart

while the women drink
and men
don't talk

because of doubles
i am never sure
how the seasons
make me feel

like a hustler
among the hyacinth
a crossed eye

so i made a nest
in a story,
howling down
the ending

in the trough of
exposed self,
the dirt is laughing
at the moon light.

1 comment:

  1. This is something. Verses 4 & 5 are really good. Way to make one word at a time shake the floorboards.