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From chocolate-brown couch to French-patterned
chair to couch again, to Navajo rug,
we enact the acrobatics of press,
push, bounce; -ing words. Thrust, flow, ebb. Friction. An idea
of something that becomes something, which returns
a focused imagining of some altered, odd
amalgam. Fiction. Still, at the end
I salivate without regard. A syrupy
rain. I'm unashamed. My brow is wet. The world
is underwater. When the tea kettle
boils it sounds like a goddamn melodious train.
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