peter heaped handfuls of copper
sick with a sigh and I pitch
a long tone of low growls
(like a broken jar of marbles
or a big wood floor
more like) lionesses alarms
his giggles
an improvement upon his viewpoint
I turn a stone to find peter
move out of danger to find
the words get longer and the words
move farther from what we are
doing
nothing
to do with our hands
gestures
he sorts a sack of socks and sucks a kiss
between cusses about the cost of caskets
and casts the cull like an ecstatic caucasian
killer brought by oxen
I gloat over the glittery pennies peter gleaned
how they glow in his glove how they glare
when our lips close
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment