of the mouth. I go in the moaning
of the blue moon. Not knowing
which time zone to live. Hugging
and chattering down the street.
Passing the Starbucks bathroom
lady. Passing the all-night security
clerk who digs a newspaper out of
the trashcan and reads it all the way
home. I harness my bitch like a
jaw, the ego of me. For practice
I ask to be pictured as dog. Not only
chained up but happy, beatific. Going
to heaven on the couch with two flirts
bound by leather. Which me submits
to the deep daddy, newsless me or
trash-heap me? Flaw the record.
I’m a dark street 5am waiting
to breathe. It’s not night-time
sulks. More glistens with
attention, rapt. You take
cellophane. I tinfoil. Fold
in until it matters. Trust
develops as lightning rod.
Breathe in deep knowing
plastic pops time into
jaw-dust.
