The eye’s desire for relief.
I’m the tiger lily bobbing in the heat.
And also the neighbor, shaved bald and
lifting weights on the balcony. Each petal
is the receipt of a shameful dream—
a thought we hadn’t wanted to incorporate
lolling from my parted mouth.
But you know it’s mistakes that make life happen.
A cardboard suitcase of beer for the traveler.
And if we get too close to the words
on this page they soften and warp
into an animal lace, some net
whose logic won’t reveal itself. I pull our eyes
back because I love you. But then you draw them
back further still because that sounds like an excuse.
The whiny version of Love Hurts loops and curls
like ribbon through a scissor, being pulled
across the blade. The money in this poem’s
easy, if you don’t mind having no thoughts and
sitting in one place, while your body changes shape.