9-5 heart
must we walk iron-ankled
through this caricature tomb?
fine, watch me behave,
watch me bleed cleanly
onto box-hedged lilly pillies and
subservient suburban pavement.
let’s stand very still and quiet
in the sugar-pilled salt circle,
or in other words, the flimsy truth
of ruled lines fed power by the letter.
now, have you had enough?
had enough? had enough? had enough?
i have too—!
let me put pen to paper town
and draw us into somewhere
extraordinary.
look: blue desert and red ocean,
tall devonian trees
with lituus-spiralled rings,
all dreams in dreams.
i’ll take half off gravity,
give feathers to all things and
watch them beg a new season to life.
let’s not go back, or else
let’s go back far enough that we forget
the leash-word, the rectangle,
the layers between skin and skin.
hush—we are returning
to the small infinities.