each and every hug breaks that thin membrane further
bedeviled by the screeching aeros
once the cavalcade of despair and memory ends
is it just a redefinition we’re looking for?
how many slow breaks of day await?
how many episodes of gleaming sorrow?
why, the old sage grins, eat your cereal
keep your strength up for the slow day ahead
put some meat on those bones
pushing, the spoon stretches these lips wide
too wide–the cereal’s not going down
milk drools down this chin,
pools inside the hollow of the neck
this is said: my spoon is too big
a general gang of laughter is heard
echoing in the belly of the stairwell
it should have been said: the belly of the stairwhale
what other brave words should have been said?
what bitter prophecies must pass these lips?
these words are too wide to pass the lips