Two PoemsI want to sleep in the runcible spoon
(after Michael Redhill
a life lived on a lake,
pale as silt never settledwe would anxiously breed
through this giant insatiablethe earliest map
of a map of the starsdeeper torn in the scene
I want to scar in the runcible spoon,
even more than I aman hour & a half
trading glucose for mercury
twenty minutes a fresh pot
it is true I have come inside
I have a headache as wide
as the northern lightsis that canadian enough?
white wine I can’t drink
w/out frontal lobe knivesI was distracted from rapture
a snap in the sky like a tear
five minutes post-lightningour culture been eaten to bare
small hands chew to one sideeverything is illuminated
glowing tributes of storefrontlike a renaissance chapel
, the cloud a low ceilingthe air on the street like a tomb