To yawn on each seat

A melon cut in half and stood flat
is the focus now, in snow,
would turn amok and grab that
as though I were starved for it
and it were edible or meat,
would be meat, that of strangers
who walk ten feet ahead and toss
their heads like boys like men across
the plane of their shoulders.
What I stare at walking anxious
and as it throws itself around
I think, “what else in creation
looks quite so desirable as that
most well formed of steaks?” Elation
is an understatement, though also
a malformed opinion as I see it
since I can touch no steak but my own
or think upon half-moons on my bit
in the stroke, or stare, or nod
that I once in a while bang my head into.
And the melon swings back with no luxury
of faces or glances or mouths or thoughts
I could collect like treasures if I seized them.

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~ by Jeremy on January 12, 2011.

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