Tuesday, February 22, 2011

unfinished moon smells

I used to think the moon followed me and only me
our faces matched through the car window
softy vibrating on the way to thanksgiving dinner.
Scalloped potato medallions breathed up from my brother's lap,
the smell reached up & tickled the fog into a cheesy thickness.
I wasn't care about calories at the time.

We spaced our breath carefully
that moon & me.
I didn't want her to get tired
from chasing me along that yellow-tongued highway.

Turquoise tastes like chlorine
& I wonder if the waves in Florida taste like that
The only salt in my air rushes cold into the nose
if you can manage not to sneeze,
becomes a copper barnacle odor;
a crustacean with a pocketful of pennies.

I've seen the gulls
killing clams with gravity
& clams are no good
unless they surface golden from a buttery kitchen
my teeth wiggle with the grease.

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