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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