Saturday, April 19, 2014

19/30 The Shower Got My Arms

We wear overcoats in the shower
sing hymns with our lungs
wrestle rain
our arms and legs a pretzel 

And we cannot breathe
in mixed signals,
where codes replace codes 
and scissors plunge deep.
Eyes bob in sockets
and skin bursts into flames
where homes turn into temples 
A blank mask hides a face
A handkerchief suspends the ceiling
the tips of toes make a soft landing.

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