“I beckon like a lemon, like a feather”

~ Sam Sejavka
 
damn that rose!  there you go – alcohol’s

typos, elephant trees in boots, the body

like a present goes stale in its box
i say i am the sun of my room, though further

inside moss grows on kidneys, and love

as deep as the moon inside a wolf’s throat
o this winter that lasts longer than

a year – what’s to be done, but put one hand

on a sheet, watch it deny itself a bed
you shall arrive when you do unless you don’t

though in the capital of invisible prisons

someday the open door must let in a snake
it ends with a riot of affluence