entomology

December 9, 2009 12:00AM

downing jars of glycerin and butterflies,
we are pummeling fast towards the
bliss of crashing stars–
feasts upon the dance floor,
torrential buzzing rims,
we thrash as insects against the
morrow-jar.

and where i see your steps in glass i
follow, and where you twirl i
gravitate, and where your pleats groove i
swallow.

our feet as branding irons,
sewing needles, tattoo ink pleading
rhythms to the gruel
we know will puncture our hearts with
anesthesia
in ten-minus-nine-minus
fuck.

fuck.

tacked to a board as the sun
rises i flap in your direction
helpless and wavering.