Very open heat baths

Sauna of aging piss-n-vinegar clouds
grates on the wheels. The spun
rulings of intemperate sun
somehow know where the string
begins at our first year and head,
ends lower on, ends where
hunger obsolesced and curled thence
into a slept-upon smile like knees
and children on them. All knew
what snow meant to their feet,
the feet they left in their women,
half-pulled out and twisted
in a man’s stronger hands than babe,
knew to walk on that trusting flat
would punish them, as all things
do when they are once to look at
and next to knead. An untouched
coffee ground has hair in it
on an untouched beach on a
spreading melt of touching land
that touches back much
more than patters ever blew it.


~ by Jeremy on January 26, 2011.

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