Thinking the Face into Mars

I stutter through millions to name you.

People keep leaving their shopping carts.
None of this rain is actually sad.

That street kitten will never drown,
because you are off for a motel
in a town that is only yours

if the factory fingers own the shoe.

Do not bring tape measures and binoculars
down to the indoor pool.

Shapes with forks behind windows
don't know your recipe for lasagna.

Please stop remembering my features
or the names of movies we mentioned.

Why should the pedestrian wave?

If they could build the hearts of chainlinks
or the aftertaste of cotton candy,

they would then attempt to claim that
a lawn chair was lonely before

we left it, that Christmas bulbs
carry awareness of money or March,

walk into K-Mart and know of their own
steady and impending sale.

1 comment:

Bryan said...

this poem is about me. i am famous. now.