Monday, August 11, 2014

I kneel to tie my shoes, I try to walk

The snake moves along pavements
its eyes gouged. The solemn procession
of scales best handle the sprig
of green onions before the palm molts
away

the sunbathers scratch oil
from their nose or peddle lunch
menus

cleave through the pockets,
as even the small moon
shrinks when you squint,
and though scales bristle
there is space,

so glide. All the same I stepped
in something varicose
and it sticks.

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