LOOKING OUT, WONDERINGHow often the birds How often the laughing angels forcing us inside How often the thanking god for the water in the bottle on the shelf at Costco and the morning crying outside into tomorrow morning The breakfast yes and-ing projecting us into our own laps How often the shopping for a new self in the aisles of Target, Whole Foods The kisses exploding back into our mouths our hands holding nothing holding melted threats The comma scooping white space into its palm and the new self emerging and the pausing of time on the subway which has windows for a reason WHEN WE ARE LOVINGLY GIVINGand we are indifferent sometimes and yes and the cuticles occasionally bitten to softness over another tax statement and the search bar indicating some pretty rage within or our knotted fists making houses in the gorgeous neighborhood of our bodies our attitudes fucking us sideways and backwards and our forgetting why THE MOUNTAIN IN THE HOUSEThat small moon that tries knowing doesn’t mention how the kid might find the other moon farther away. I think about ice. Directions. Lighting the field ‘til prom makeovers everyone. The simple matchbook burns terribly in reverse. Touching someone for days: that’s the stuff. Borrowing the pretty mouth; mouth that leads my abdomen to the door. A small peach was thrown, then another. ✱✱✱
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