POICTESME aRound and aRound Elle Fisher
no hunger or unafraid valve-sounds can cure this: But I see a monarch-faced butterfly-man and think of applause as in, applause of two hands smacking at a hollow stage. Hear that? Candywater runs by the wrist, from my segmented claret fruit onto some basic place. I let it drip there. The man occupies himself with puddles licking his chipped brown teeth. Showing himself a smile against one mineral well. –Let’s sail over there, he whispers his ear squeezed against that surface. So I bite on another mere segment –puckered lips from its acid– When, next I see him dripping, –like a candle will drip around its wick– in an arabesque pose from his brow from his shoulders from his chest. I see him go. There, he sails away. And left behind, I’m staring in piles at the applauding sidewalk stones.
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4/6/12 3:07 PM