games involving firewood
result in splinters
the ants go marching one by one
THE ANTS GO MARCHING ONE BY ONE….
floored by lino and valium her apron is stuck between her legs
crumpled and damp
tense air on slack cheeks
he is gone and he is still here slapping her rightness in the face
those were some hairy hands
she remembered when they glimmered light with certainty
rubbing off in subtle patterns
delicious and secretive
telling stories of church bells and worn stone, folding like sugar creme
turning up the heat.
wind this city down, clip the folders shut, bring adventure to a close
a directive not a soothing
a belt not a swing
a confine not a win
and we are laughing on clouds with our feet dangling in a robust swamp brimming with colour and life.