If I give no credit to long-distance calls, if I scan my tissue for butterfly scales, if I watch echoes of voices, their shadows on the circus tent canvas, where did she go? Self-coefficient. Nebula. Quail creek.
Sewing buttons on tyres. Cutting logs for elbows.
Immersed in my entertainment center. The stage crushing my feet.
Drinking from tea bags under my eyes. Good to the last dropsy.
Mimosa leaves on the bonnet. A spoonful of Castrol in the morning.
A cat wearing a hula skirt. The bird nesting under my nose.
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