Water balloons, paper towels, dirt
Grease turned black in the pan
Iron crumbs, a magnet
A blue tipped match in the sink
The eye of the nail, the head of the needle
The taming of the screw
My lips to the rim
My eye to the hole
My fingers in a knot
The tip of my tongue touches sandpaper
I swallow a wax lozenge
Cough up a soggy band aid
Comment on the smell of the fence,
on the taste of feathers.
Post your agreement or dissent
with little embellishment.
I am a parking lot I am a waiting room
I am a sieve of mindfulness
A photocopied pizza
A hole in the postcard
I'm listening to you melt
To the wild slapping of the sun
The the sound of air exiting a blossom
Our fractured attention spans
glued together. I run my finger
along the maze of cracks,
never reaching the center
All this, sure,
but at the end of the day
All I really wish for
is just one woman
to undress for me
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