Hairworms destroy grasshoppers
Inside out.
Foot long ringlets,
Wandering calligraphy,
Ebony ink…
There was a chariot
Drawn by silver carousel ponies in October,
Manes shaped and shaved like zebra spikes,
And their bells signaled the duke’s arrival.
Salmon were swimming uphill.
I think he grabbed her by the waist.
That’s what they say,
And spun her round till the bottom of her dress
Fanned like lily petals.
They dragged their dull, dead tails against the current.
He’d be back Tomorrow.
‘Wait here at the stream’s edge,’ he said. She’d wait
Any amount of time to read the braille
Of his lips again.
The next step was life or caviar. It always starts the same.
She made a nest using
Dying leaves
Tumbling close to the shore.
She crafted a coat of night crawler skins
And notes in the dirt.
They leave a strong taste of iron in the water.
Tomorrow, Two Winters later.
Gold carousel ponies halt at the river.
The duke played all summer with pheasANTS.
He found her nails covered in clay, and
Her notes:
I want to kiss him again.
I need to put more logs in the pit.
My lovers were all musicians.
For some reason I’m still waiting… hoping…
They had a language I could understand but not speak.
I need to wait for it to dry before I try lighting it again.
The sun’s setting. It’s getting cold out here…