concerto

[claire_writes]

what is it about other people
I don't agree with them
they don't agree with me-

I agree much more
with the violin strings
in my calves
inhaling the strips
of asphalt in the
lengthy angles
that sneak
between time.

I agree much more
with the carnival of
my existence
that rotates in a fine
troubled bed
of pastry spheres-

a constantly thriving,
wayward ground-

sporadically
meaningful, and regularly
chaotic-

it is ok
solely
in the labyrinthial
black clouds
that soar between
my ears,
that God swallowed
the moon down the wrong
tunnel this morning,
and I dived down

to save her,
the small beaming white
ball.

tummy gliding
among the unscathed
deep pink roads
of his throat-

I am a five year old seal.

and he was smiling
the retiring night-
the coarse wheat bushels
that ran over his fingers
were soothing the
hills of mustache-

his eyes didn't
suddenly close-
but sunk in.
a silk screen became
the gaping lids,
and dropped the layers
of colors like the tide
pulls and frees
the knick-knacks of the sea,

and vomits them up
on the shore,
in a slightly formulaic
pace.

when I reached his toes
and the moon
still was not mine,

I crawled out of
the narrowest one
so that the cylinder
of bones and faces
were a mere muggy vision
evanescing in the
shadows of
the steps, the steps
before.