trace the edges of shadows and
cross your fingers like the icon of some greek jesus,
palm out, thumb down, eyes downcast, shy like a virgin
blinded by the light of your own halo.
stairways in your damp footsteps that leave
imprints on the carpet, like girls in highheel shoes,
like singing to a tune always a pitch too high or too low and
straining your voice to keep up.
jointless elbows make sweeping motions in the
sky, grandiose fashions of humanity that you can't understand,
only made possible by the uneven rocking of nonsense poisoned
in your milk.
Author notes
Written May 12th, 2006
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