after JKD's To Be Read, Perhaps, In Reverse
These are tunnels under the sky
because sky is earth
and earth is where we go when we die.
Cliffs and old bottles tell
elsewhere tell the decades of battles and treaties
a cobbled raft crossing history's
spindly winesacks and marriages.
Vows knotted arms drunk in a corner of our labyrinth.
You, for example, whispering under
shelled yellowjackets, curled on a stone step.
Betrayed by a chemical, a pathway through matter.
Hospitals under your fingernails
where scratching is useless.
The dulcet clatter of loose change in my pocket
a history like the rest of us.
words for April
9 hours ago