Monday, September 26, 2011

channel hiking

I'll believe you when the locus become friendly,
spelling words from their ears

instead of toes. my nose smells your breath through the
screen in front of me,

through the words in front of you

and a cable of truths
between us.

no longer can I read the eyes of tin
people reading their point of views

on points of cues given to them as paychecks.
you say ad-lib, I say birdie

ad-lib, birdie


I wear my boots to bed while walking through talking ties,
leaning into syllables, like
girls leaning

into uninterested men leaning into them
for as long as it takes to get off.

then they get off, and the smell of it lingers.
I wonder

If we'll last through the summer, last
through the fall.

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