my other voice is a bottletop
blown over
the white scribble of jets
in a pail of water
my vow to you is always
to catch your sighs
my other voice
is a handsaw, drunk
on the breaking
of days
deserving of praise and anaesthesia
the sun blinked off
x-d out eyes and the sketch
of a skirt on the wind
drawn into a plain pine board
with a felt tipped pen
here’s where to begin
blind as the dirt
where the din of your mind
can steer toward the quiet
of the cooling board
i woke up this morning
how do you reckon
hurry, hurry
the salve will settle
the skin, the sun
knows better than to blink
back on again
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