ELLIS AVERY ant ant ant ant ant eight
October 4, 2011 § 2 Comments
Latched With A Leek Leaf
:
:
tiny morning glories
piled up on each other
blooming and dying
:
my feet like breasts
vulnerable and useless
but less decorative
:
on the subway I smell
someone peeling an orange
ten yards away
:
cozily dwarfed
by a wall
of lush moonflowers
:
menstruating
I stare at pictures
of our dead cat
:
caressing her own neck
with the back
of a spoon
:
brick wall broken
by fire escapes
on one a lawn gnome
:
the dentist takes a mold
cold pink cement crumbs
dribble down my bra
:
falling thickly
a flock of sycamore leaves
at night I catch one
:
window gingko
last leaf gone
last night I dreamed of cats
:
Sunday
on the park railing
someone’s black thong
:
vegetable stall
cupboard
latched with a leek leaf
:
Saint Mark’s Place
crowded with drunken
Santas
:
nightfall all the mirrors
for sale on the sidewalk
offer blue blue
:
at the drugstore
balling used tinsel
into the trash
:
on the sidewalk
a dozen spilled white buttons
all sizes
:
morning
snow melts faster
on the north side of the street
:
early daffodils
jaunty
in the cold
:
Monday afternoon
on the church steps
fixing her little girl’s hair
:
all in one night
the forsythia rolled in
loud and chatty
:
not recognizing
my friend
on the corner
:
they’ve struck all
their blue-tipped matches
last week’s azalea buds
:
alone at night
in the new dress I made
eating Thai food
:
grown too fast
the oak leaves
their splayed tongues
:
on the hotel
comment card
a dead bug
:
in a white dress
she crosses the street
bearing one lettuce
:
orange extension cord
snakes up a tree
lighting nothing
:
washing
an egg-shaped stone
with dewy grass
:
floating glint of metal
in the gingko tree
one of my hairs
:
the morning glories
gain the second floor
half a million dead in Iraq
:
:
ant5 
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