Export: Writing the Midwest
Within the Drumlin
A bronze coin sits on my genitals.
Bits of necklace give memory to her bosom
That was sucked, spat upon from spoiled mouths.
One bone for a dog beckoned love.
We froze at the moment of becoming.
Touch us and we are smooth as toffee.
She danced across the aviary's tableland.
We were structures between interludes.
I did well when I perspired with the moon.
This drumlin has numberless bridges.
Looking for a ceramic street, we found
The only retreat for our garnered lives.
We held hands, interlocked opposable thumbs.
Our children jackknife the heavens. They
Destroy the congealed sky as stars fall,
Begging to spread down like a bed sheet
Over this drumlin. They spy upon us.
She and I sounded like empty bells ringing,
Echoing again and again awful time.
We hugged each other. We fell into sleep.
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