I was on edge I’ll say because
of too much sun why not and it
didn’t matter where we stopped for the night
I just didn’t want to go back
and trap myself. Again. You have to move
carefully when you find you’re a
head in a jar. But I’m so tired. My
words wade the short cold waves and end
where they began in a still mumbling mouth
forever filled with acrid liquids
wolfed by the woof and warp of unwashed
waters all the days of this half life
for half a dozen or so bubbles that
break with awful scents and few clear notes
Tag: bubbles
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Some mornings it takes only half
a word and the rotten dough starts
its sticky churn—a squirrel darts
blindly into the street—crows laugh—bubbles that smell like blistered feet
pop pop pop. The dough grows until
it overflows and spills its fill
from patio to doorbell. Beatthis image down and let it rest.
Don’t blame the tattered recipe,
flour, or salt. In an hour I’ll plea
for sweetness like a man possessed.I see the mess these thought have brought—
Bread that’s just holes. I’m glad we fought.
other animals 