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    Thursday, July 05, 2007

    remaining bone poems, then some new


    you are pithy and porous

    she is glistening and hard

    a red feather in your cap

    pompous boy playing at what?

    a deviation to dip in the septum

    creation of lateral masses, better yet


    which wind and create circular masses on my belly

    you trace with the tip top of a tongue

    yet these are mind games played

    out on paper with inked up letters

    smudge proof I am hoping

    so they can reach farther than me.

    I remain here, lying on my side

    light and spongy, maybe cubical in shape

    I will slide through

    Portions of all—


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