The Bandito in the Bistrot
Face like a shovel: dirt and all.
I try to get full on sugar packs.
Toe through a sock hole like a pumpkin seed.
At the last moment, a glass of water appears,
and the diver lands. This is a love letter
because I received it. A love letter
but only I can see it. Trees spun
to a storm grove’s sides like shirts
in a washer. A tip jar out. It tips, it jars,
it’s out. So, we had it out out in it.
Did we. Had these envelopes licked.
The rabbit scares each night at the same
spot on the lawn. I carry desire
like a kid with a sleeping bag
on a school bus. He will wake with Cheerios
thread in his hair. We don’t pull through,
in the usual sense. We are pulled through, and pull
something through, as worms
threading a shell’s maze. My father said
put canvas over the barbed wire and all
I have is this priceless Mona Lisa. Nurse logs,
rain worms, Billie Holiday tapes.
A canteen. Bales of star. I suck the cold air in
to soothe my gums. Assuming the Mona Lisa
is the most beautiful thing. I tunnel out.
As long as I never surface, I cannot be caught.
Look: from the ground up, I unfold like a paperclip.
In winter light like snap peas.
I try to get full on sugar packs.
Toe through a sock hole like a pumpkin seed.
At the last moment, a glass of water appears,
and the diver lands. This is a love letter
because I received it. A love letter
but only I can see it. Trees spun
to a storm grove’s sides like shirts
in a washer. A tip jar out. It tips, it jars,
it’s out. So, we had it out out in it.
Did we. Had these envelopes licked.
The rabbit scares each night at the same
spot on the lawn. I carry desire
like a kid with a sleeping bag
on a school bus. He will wake with Cheerios
thread in his hair. We don’t pull through,
in the usual sense. We are pulled through, and pull
something through, as worms
threading a shell’s maze. My father said
put canvas over the barbed wire and all
I have is this priceless Mona Lisa. Nurse logs,
rain worms, Billie Holiday tapes.
A canteen. Bales of star. I suck the cold air in
to soothe my gums. Assuming the Mona Lisa
is the most beautiful thing. I tunnel out.
As long as I never surface, I cannot be caught.
Look: from the ground up, I unfold like a paperclip.
In winter light like snap peas.