Jesses (after Edna)
Dog wedged in my craw, slopped on my
elbow, ass-up, underlit, but enough to read like a jackal. Let’s see,
here are my hinds, a black shawl across my back, yanked it with my big
sticky toes. Way down there. To sigh, string you up like a buzzy
horsefly, count tinkles in the tinfoil. I wheeled out the electric
heater for us. And hot tea, buddy. Be dragooning soon, rolling droll to
the moon for ice cream cake. No, the ground floor. To binge my pinchy
lips on your hair. My body swarthy topcloth lashed at the top,
intonating to the neighbors. Here is Blazer: that words return where
they never were. Thatch of blue, green, silver thistles, wish I could
slur this. Or move with all my clothes on against the door, sort of
waltz in white off balance, thigh of mine rising seven time two-ra-loo
like dad dropping the soft gizzard in broth. That’s paragraphos. We
volley hawks by the jesses, send them, scintillating green hills, and
clear out. You laugh at my trousers, kiss my mick chin, that I am
dutiful, too humanly faced. Touching tinges, the tine in your eye, look
at you, fondling little hinges of a grasshopper, the stuff you love
right here, how do you do that? My thing being sound you jiggle, lift
out silibant, calling from me distant slipshod like I don’t know, a
sparrow someplace. I’m afraid to pay rent, fix my headlights, partake,
I think you know how flimsy plaited flailing I intimate the fields.
When I was little, whipping heaps of leaves into shape, covered the
a’s, half of the b’s in the dictionary, played baseball with a wiffle
while Dad cleaned fish tossing the awful silver heads anywhere I
pleased.
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