CHRIS GORDON a book of matches

January 29, 2014 § Leave a comment

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snow from Xmas still painted on the porno shop

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thaw before New Year’s silverfish in the bathtub

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three lentils in the beach bathroom drain

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my son says I’m not playing I’m having fun

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at the doctor we divide by two subtract one

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the button I sat on falls to the bus floor

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drawn to the lollipop ants sizzle in the sun

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panties tossed on the melon rinds wet in spots

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over time the little steps take us far away

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my brother I don’t really know it’s his birthday

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hoofprints on the beach seaweed entangled with bones

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morning the bathroom empty except for my razor

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you write a list I let your tea steep too long

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with a book of matches you know how many are left

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lit by the window sawhorses covered with snow

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the corner where the blackbird attacks a rag on fire

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deep in the river a tiny moth leaves my head

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