waterproof with metaphor more than encasing heaven
eyes make every move, each window, wet lightning
hits the lights out, all us at last see each other only like souls walking this
hard, usually ‘lectrified
land in sight not deeper than skin thin shallows poured upon like milk muddied
upward toward out in the air between us, groaning
bones to cleave to as tongues to significance, to hot, to (I am my map of) when
the church burned down some
got charred, repainted the hall and parlor for appearance, for appearance degenerates
into personality, personality a plaything—
some put spf on their box of crayons after
the advice on my face, face in their eyes trying to be trying
to be representations of what they meant, what
construction paper and soft crayons make when the kids get recombinant and
access the xerox endlessly they armor for the
photograph in front of the wreckage framed in fading light, a quarter faithful,
porcelain features pre-disposed
to being well-treated, little ink edges under the skin rose pink
(reversed if seen from the inside or in a mirror)
as encased intention attached to the small safety of saying
attacked to the danger of appearing over and over every day you might lovingly
release the
touch you’ve taken too extremely to such outsides disappear
into ideas, a whole body fed by eyes
feels beauty then to be misleading
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