writing memory

1
no time in the shoe box
such verbiage like the dead string lovers’ play
she does the call to interpret limitations
laps around the track and a lake in the middle
maybe a reservation

training requires dedication and patience
give me give me give me $20 in the parking lot box at the corner.

her tongue is timid knows the scar and works its way around the edges
like a disco ball parade white black, slip of

the tongue knows the outlines of the mouth
of its owner and that of its lover becomes a game.

remember the color of first?
close your eyes now go backwards three times…
she is writing to make a new one or maybe just working through to gain the courage.

2
He said stutter and she said how?
Impediments reach in touch and let go –
They sent war machines with poems and dropped punctuation marks
There are no vowels to spare.
She hasn’t felt his tongue, doesn’t know if it will puzzle the vacancy where her art is on the floor.
The alarm clock misses

3
minutes and a number for the outside
To release from the memory, to write though to artifact where sound fills the back box
deepening digressions into deluge
sailing out of the bubble gum into the carbon dioxide

she molds the jello and dog biscuits to take care of something living.

biting down

sentences presencing taciturn or moppy the liquid runs down the floor
a gum drop placed upon the end of the nose – C contemplates alone
to blue or run the morning no clean sheets
interlude of hum two times one tuba

he says he doesn’t know any better
doesn’t make this decision very often

a butter knife down the left inner thigh
a coffee cup set dripping on the stove
three more salt licks and the block loses shape