Thursday, February 28, 2013

cherry

ingredients.

torridly, recklessly.

leave it unedited, uncensored, unsigned. cold dough, incubating in a straightjacket.

jars and jars of unlabeled matter.

stop abruptly, in the middle, without explanation. leave hanging indents.

stop before the words can catch their breath, before it can relax and sigh and stretch like a cat in the sun. claws catching on curtains. accidental amusement.

it should be over in a flash, a cherry on the highest branch--bird bait--flanked with pie pans to deflect and entice.

it says 'come hither, taste me'. then, when you're close enough to see the lust in your unblinking eyes, eight seconds elapsed, you see yourself: a greedy swallow, pecking holes in perfect cheeks, drawing blood.

let it alone. let it dry. let it crawl back home to a door left wide open, with nothing inside. pin it on a clothesline--page after wet page, great white sails on an urban plot, bleached prayer flags--rising like a hint of infinity and crashing into power lines.





 

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