I just can't get it up
for nature no more.
Writes the exit
on all the little mallets.
One night Leslie
got up to use the bathroom
quite late. Every taut string
beaten.

I gather goodbyes the way
wind ripped around his hand, turning
what was once flat now joyously
defined in the shape of her
body, or all night I'm up
pasting shadows over my cuts until
I feel like her memory.
All night I'm up turning
worms into gold.

That squirrel got hit
by a car and lay there
by the road until
every summer night stiffened
with frost, and you
stopped waiting for me
to see and now its
snowed-in bones show through,

just a trace of a tail like
the first fossilized bird.

Don't even want
to jerk off.



=====


associate editor, _sidereality

http://www.sidereality.com/

——–

http://www.lewislacook.com/

tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html









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