CollectingRain

Years ago I could sit All day on that chair My body settled in cushions Much bigger then than now Half awake I hear the radio Lucille, once again Picked a prime time to leave I fall back, half asleep The audience yells, I come to Higher they try to persuade But on the couch he says lower And from the kitchen she calls higher Only Bob Barker knows for sure Outside I play amongst the sound Of locusts (or something clattering) Once again the ball lands in my glove Another perfect game, At least twenty that summer She calls for me Fresh Lemonade, And that chair once again Out of the window I could see He picked something f

There's a word that buzzes on lips, that stings on the tongue like a swallowed wasp. There's a word that clings to my wrists slung low around my hips and every time I swing it -- I fall. They spew the word like comfort, they spit it with a pat on the back and I, I am unbridled in my defiance of their righteousness -- Surprising for all the hand-holding I can need. It whirls around my ears, settling in the curling lobes like soured, curdled milk and I must shake my head, split my lips on the sharp doubled edge of their good will: "Damn you and your arrogance, damn you and your held high hands, your prayers and your kissed