Breathing Lion
Tomorrow I’ll see the big sex of today’s lost apples falling from dead trees picking up their feet on long steel beams into the fire of a kiss on the arm, nibbling like the world’s turning to sand and nothing bleeds better than a telephone line off the hook in some terrorizing dream that panics everyone but you sitting still like a deer with a breathing lion in the grass, knitting new pictures of some destroyed meal in your mouth but you can still feel her touch against your shoulder the flat of her hand and everything connected to the genuine goodness she placed on your body standing there in line, fire in the breeze cooking the police off some ancient ritual they’ve never considered. So in some big chorus sunglasses reflect her tattooed snakes onto the bracelets you can’t take off, bound to the rings around you both, pelvis coupled in a dark star she cast from her palms like it came from her palms sending across predator signals and finding whales on the end of harpoons you didn’t know she threw since the clock struck midnight and everyone finally showed for your birthday you threw. Stepped on some moth wings as my feet tensed up wondering if they gave up on some important task when alligator bites fell through the clouds into a sweet politician’s lap just waiting for a bus, spicy as all get out in the summer sun screaming like kids in the rain wondering when baseball season starts this year and dying because something keeps dying inside and I’d fight god to put my finger on it and keep my brothers from drinking so much that my ears ring because loud guitars distract cops and that’s too real so I pull away into some cosmic bender hoping the baby comes from her belly smoothly and all the bacteria along her vagina give the baby a rousing introduction to a world I can only sing at — LOL, she said again putting her hand on my shoulder in pale buckets I couldn’t shoulder but wanted to, she was so good a beauty I’ll never know governess of the continents I’ll leave in temples undiscovered as I keep looking for a phone booth to call mom and say I’m ok. The only people saying we don’t belong are people who believe we don’t belong burning their stars so diligently as the fire gets up around her neck so that even a castle seems out of reach.
