We came back from the library.
to “sleep unmolested” once meant
something different.
We sit like bus passengers on the sofa,
somehow undone beside
the loveseat deciduous myrtle,
immoderate, moss-lined,
flea market garnishes.
Chinese food gone
down on, we dress the carpet,
leeks, left feet, fortune slips – one said:
“even sisyphus learned to love the stone
you unbound, push the sun –
take peace in knowing we get set.”
It was kind of long, yeah,
and we did.
She was as acute as an Araki catch
posted up in the trap. mumbling,
bound to its branch like an aloe leaf -
and knees fasten like the awkward magnetism,
the apart tethers of cardigan hairs in separate,
indifferent and peaking houndstooth hemispheres.
We come back from the library,
and you put the karada on me.
you lean over the spread
like a copy of huck finn split
into it’s writer’s last name sake
as if it was a first assignment:
SCAN ALL OF THIS BY MONDAY.
Innocent in shade of a new word
we weren’t supposed to say.
in language I consent and you will wind
me unsafely until I say “tetradontidae.”
We took a page from
a tome of lush park fauna horrors.
your sextant gave Aokigahara
a new household angle
(life is a precious thing!)
bending arches over counters,
(please reconsider!)
hanging legs are read better
(think of your family!)
when impressed tenders
tie the breadth of your tenors.
We came back from the library.
