Sitting for hours in the backyard
With the blood of transported grape
The speculations flew
Where would we all end up?
Not heaven or hell
(everyone goes to heaven)
With spiders in our shadows
And dogs growling for cheese
Here on earth
We wonder where our seeds will be sown
Displaced;
Shifted in location
Organs making way
Organisms making ways
No one raising a fuss
Fathers leave all the time
With beards
And beer on their breath
Scowling deep set in ripples
Probing in season
Just like that
Starting what someone else finished
A place setting
Appears
Nimble little toes and fingers
Learning their way
Around a palette
With holes
Light is captured
In orbs
Bugs in our candles
Mosquitoes in our amber
There are cycles
That can be heard
By putting your head to the ground
Sideways
These are real people
None of the events depicted
Swollen with fluids
Carefully rescued
Dropped into water
Or otherwise
Never to be left for green earth
Green bottles
Sun on the neck
Looking up to the sky
Finding lost garments in dreams
Screening calls
Wanting
To go on a walk
Hold hands
Have sex every day
Are to ever be acted out
By anyone with thorns for guts
Or lemons in their jaw
Names and places
Have been changed
To protect
What little we know
About ourselves
In a panic
We draw the shades
And hope the next bell
Is not a gameshow
A lightning round
Or a thunder clap
Our trivia
Should grow exponentially
Because we're narrating
In case someone ever finds out
We were once playing in dirt
And got lost
--
6.2.08
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