–and these trees lean through
one another, singing a cicada lace
to sleep in, a skin of its own
mottled cries, which is a description
of a ladder shaking the man almost flying
to flush the bats we've found leaking

through the stitches in the ceiling–
he is a man with tools. i am a man

with Benson and Hedges 100s (premium filter),
which means the air has finally in some ways
accepted its inevitable decline. profuse with
holes (premium filter), interpretive dance
leans the scream of the metal ladder
way back to retract it. i'm such a turncoat

in this racket–but now you're pointing
that camera at me. it doesn't blink. i'm afraid
to crack into smiles sometimes when its
looking at you through it for me that way.



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http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&ie=UTF8&oe=UTF8&q=Lewis+LaCook


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