b: i squeeze all the sunspots
between the shadowfingers
of ravensweed thinking of you
m: of stalks, i trust their fringes
a binge of cornhol for this pit
stomaching away from you sweet
the 'chine i ride, nearing the grapehol
unto slopes and squirrels.
and there is a vine,
and is there an experimental fruit hiding with us
b: how do you map the trail?
do you follow footpaths or the smell of entrails?
m: we stepped over tooths
some hush and tear'd,
maps over eyes and cans on ears
b: what do you do when the hunter
harkens near with his red rattle?
I'm rustling with fear, my follicles thrust
helpless up like antennae entreating beetle
m: our embrace was a hiding place,
the stone in the grape made us opaque.
the hunter interloping let us be translucent
b: our kiss sent us shimmering wet
in the mushroom gills with the thrill of the guillotine,
while some ravens made slits in the silence, we wouldn't slip
m: a slip, a hose hiccuping gasoline
like the spirit of a horse dead in the creek, livening
b: neighing, "skip this page, choose an adventure
that doesn't lurch you in the grippe ditch"
m: another repair- cylinders, steam,
and tar on the thoroughfare--
the grip of wishful thoughts
tear us and dump us in ashy sunspots
b: in granite, we run our bare feet
on ragged, waiting for our wishes
to be squeezed out on the steel
m: I recall getting held in the palm of a ditch,
a threatening flashlight brought to whimper
by my own sleepy drunk,
as here we cradle in this stranger's box
b: where is threat? it trickles out of a hose
like a gardener snake in weak light.
where is regret? at the feet of the interloper,
the inferior sea crowned by three in a bathtub, hahaha
