on the night/scribble something (and our sweat)

everyone step back this is a crime scene

ma’am please put away the camera

it appears that smoke has learned to talk



i says “hello thing,” to the clinging dirt

and then my ankle sheds its mask

that’s when a boomerang clips my throat



okay, i’m putting a box over here near the oleander

i’ll put your punches in it when they dud

remember: you can’t fire me, i quit



this cathedral merry-go-rounds collections of crowns

nights i jimmy the sluice-gate and sway

days i shuffle packs of flattened cans



no really, from above dotted lines artery the ground

tethering the taste of hours ago to now

a pair of lips that corner the rising sun



the left foot filling in for the right

when the drag becomes too much of a drag

step around the house for a moment let’s forget