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Monthly Archives: August 2013

This old apartment has beetles in the mirror
could be me
shedding wings in the laps of firepoles
or men, their mouths open like coal-chutes

Look at anything too long and
knuckles are metal and gong-beat-backed
concrete slabs that move
like an old rocker children split their eyes on,

Moon-bird in the window
roars
pours salt on my bedsheets and
skin shrivels the
old tiles applaud, clasp hands
with half-peeled walls andĀ 

there are shells in there, all pieced
like the corners of a collarbone,
a young boy from Cincinatti trades
organs for wood and arsenicĀ 
the currency of row boats.

I can see the floor move while sleeping
and feel my chest a Harlem window
conducting the electricity of the body
cleansed in rain and steam

Sane boy tried to make this place beautiful
and ended up feeding flies.