before it was a metaphor First scrape fat from skin, turn to sun what never felt light, in vitriol bathe open wounds, sear to
When you are an old man, you will still collect them, these co-eds with coral cheeks, seashell pink lips. You say, let them mouth
keep their eyes open twice, listen to shadows, the way a wine bottle clinks against granite, enjoy the blue and red rhythm of the
I spend my days at the farmhouse. Always the sound of cows; at night, the dreams of cows. Their paths through the grass, the