an i for an i
or tooth for teeth
make undersea anything.
in the crooks of arms, collecting,
coral reefs of unforgetting.
Abuela screeched “fear poisonous berries
constipation, handsome robbers.”
But here? skinsmiling in the skyblush?
grin and be my Cheshire cheese
and I’ll walk without feet, which is maybe
the way to seduce a strawberry.
The got-away balloon was a proud cloud architect
shaping sinewy seams with the crux
of his tongue. The got-away breath was a clatter
prattled fast, unfussed over
like the cuticles of a tiger.
I myself am less and less the walrus
it’s harder to grow tusks in the social dusk of almost
she likes classical variations
waxing rhapsody in green, green
when they ask you for a handstand
the question always stands for something
but I know the passcode:
sing Spoonlight Monata by the sink
(A man with a very long beard
realizes each strand is in fact a ukelele)
I myself am more and more the bell girl:
enamored with the manners of the sidewalk
as it sidles, changes places, stretches closer to the road
It’s a mango day.
bare backbones are in gear
dreaming of cotton gins, tin rivers
Babies cry because the world is empty
then swaddled in pool floaties fly asleep
hum soft, waxing gibbous, in pools and watering cans
the stars fandango free
I myself am still and still the shapeshifter
feeling like a gymnasium
feeling the press of an elephant army
Queen of shoes and shells and feet
Rolling up my sweater, see?
Which is maybe the way to
seduce a strawberry