Moving things around with your wishes | Tending the faces, the memories | of faces | the shadows of faces | When your wishes are over | real people return | square arms | round heads | leaving their teeth | at the bottom of the sea, as | would anyone | Those fish, scavengers, are the “cleaners of the ocean” | that dish | is “melt-in-your-mouth” | We have the facilities | We have the arrangements | There are the courts | Disinfectants | The breezes of other | people’s conversations | the swirling leaves in them | and different species of trees, perhaps you could | name one? | But they have no need of trees | Setting the bones of the next | night down by the rest | it’s quite a collection | A reaped crop | including the farmers | all gone to that | dark market | a hit | a haul and | a score | with no one | to mark it | Slow | fate | falls | slow | the | drop | Thighs, and scapulas | wrists | jaws | and at the far, far | end of a | thought | the old mammoth’s | tusks | showing | how you loved her | still covered by the snow | you once wished | might stop

When a new voice comes | like a fresh breeze | who will care for the one | raindrop among all | the raindrops of the storm? | With its | faint taste of | kelp | salt | rust: | Atlantic? | Do you want | your bitterness to grow | so clear | it will be like | nothing? | How long will you wait | while the castle | crumbles around you, the demerara | freckles drift | down her arms and deepen, the weather’s | years awry? | The soft | blizzard of orgasm | blows | out of you | Now you’ve won | what will you do? | Why do you hate it so | when all your wishes | come true?

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem June 2013)

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