Wednesday, April 25, 2012

the complex riddle of mute mallorie and her operatic toes

tending towards tendrils
such as assorted
crops bending
on the lazy wind
bright light staged
in a window stream frame
and soft cream glow

one is missing
tucked under the blanket
of time

one is missing
and they all talk
the saccharine slander
sharing saw-toothed whispers
of how they all remember

a cellar
or the dock of a ship
a malign formation
or the rock and the slip
a birth deformation
or a brother that bit
a cellar
and the trauma
and a family writhe with loss

but you don’t look up
you can’t

tear away from the tail
tick tapped in
aphasiatic cadence
like a type writer missing it’s “a”
it w sn’t the pl y
it w s the w y they pl yed
 nd it w s th t p rt th t sc red you

but you don’t look up
because you did that once
now you can’t look up
because her eyes shout lazers
the same color as the paint
on her toes

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