The Village in Every Map
We do not sell cheese.
The shop owner sleeps again.
Under his shop-sign- CHEEZ
a pail collects the fluid rust.
It makes a corroded sound,
a fly failing inside a trap.
We do not sell during noontime sleep.
A worm-bellied boy asks for a coin.
He knows how to make food from metals,
promises me to teach the trick.
The Roof With A Tin Cup
A cup on the tin roof,
You rinse your eyes with it
It goes everywhere with you,
Sometimes you wipe your eyes
and they breathe again.
What breathes can sigh too.
You do not want another man’s sigh on you.
Your eyes sigh on every man with a smile.
They would swab it if they knew.
They do not.
They wave at you and ask if you enjoyed last night’s rain.
Feed J, he is past his meal time.
Silence. We eat.
The breads break sighs.
It has the summer wind over the wheat fields.
A girl touched rows after rows
rushing towards her father.
Silence. They eat.
Their breads pray for their future.
Feed J, you say leaning towards his lean shoulder.
lug him towards
asleep me, in myself.
The paws open my corpus.
In a dream if you see a lion, you are a dreaming gypsy.
He licks those paws clean and coils in.
Now I stroll inside him,
in him I build