flowers on the bus.
I am built of rain showers
(there is dumbness here too, see?)
nothing’s number blatzed to a blah
you?
you are built of chopsticks and beans
lilacs and snores and woodchips
first. just let me,
tell
you
I
I am built like this, here,
see?
with this the worst (of it) in chilly
spoons
nosed to you over dinner’s pancakes
saved the night--
not you-- instead (we and us) run
bathing clothed
(cooler than you’d guess or know) into
what’s built of danger’s channel
(changed safer, but
still…
you know?)
something doesn’t give
takes to roll under (doesn’t
it? rightly not chosen
there in when’s yet)
and all my’s yous
built lastly to fall
(the way of hickeys and snow)
just as the weep tears wreckage from sighs
(worlds deceased go,
this
way, and, dancing, mostly,
that)
or you built like a show’s say:
tap shoes in one hand, cigarette (spelled)
in the other.
I am built of typeface and heys and
shivers and.
(you?
hell)
you must have the coldest feet in all of heaven ( . )
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