Bushy didn't buy the teapot because it had the wrong sort of spout.
He and he both came to split the firewood, the dogs slipped their tongues through cages.
Bushy is called the housewife's solace, frightened the ladies he bought a muffin tin from
because he was so enthusiastic about home-made jams, leant over the counter forcefully
and chose the black tablecloth because it's 'real me.'
I hear him now by the door say 'we are an island of warriors.'
I hear him say genealogy. I see his eyes, the scratches on his neck from temperance.
A body's not opaque my body lets you
leak into me when I simply brush your hand from my face
I am busy stop always crouching behind me
caressing my thighs
you listen to skills I feel you should gain
seedlings burst earth in a fish container
weather marks our bodies like it knows our interior
baby we go to hospitals and I find I can speak Spanish
I buy a craft knife for ten cents
there is nothing still about calm
when you rest I am orgasmic with fear
you move away from all suns with your skin darkening
there are mountain ranges of sand at your feet
there's the ice wind that blows in the desert
there's the lonely mouth of the sea
What could you have thought of? her arms heavy with sheets?
just because you are worn shiny by hands it does not mean you are gleaming
Was she happy ever? Believing her skirts were quick animals, glancing from the stirring stove to what was chasing round the door frame. Did you love her in the entirest way you could? As if she were the element from which you were made. As if without her you would be the shadow of a statue walking away. Il vient, s’en va, puis il revient.
She stands at the window watching for the approach of words that will shatter her life
and let her go on living. Lean on us, say the trees, though she dances beneath their roots.