Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Something like life

A platform: smiling with my liver.

I want a brave haircut so you will

know I am, call me

Little Brave.

Most likely you do not know

I am dead serious

most of the time.

I shoot cannons and you go ha ha.

This is something like repetition,

something like life.

Yesterday was strange

to feel grown up. I held my shoulders

back—statue’d told no one

this is how it feels, does not feel.

Then Peter Pan came

asking to the window, how do you

like your air--dehydrated or fried?

We ate off a large white plate

till morning.

It was something like life.

Now it is today and my hands shake.

You will not know unless I tell you

I keep a picture of a lady in my freezer. Her eyes

beside the peas know all. I want to marry her,

but she is dead.

Tonight I will take off my shoes

and my blender will speak back.

Creatures have a way of recovering.

I will leave the plant where it fell out the window.

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