I sit at the kitchen table,
and look out the window like it’s a portrait frame.
I drag my foot on the linoleum.
I try and pick the steak out of my teeth
with my tongue.
earlier today, an army of men
with trash bins marched down the street
I got up and joined them
I didn’t have anything with wheels
so I just dragged a sense of remorse around with me.
it made the same amount of noise
and held a coyote once we got up to girard.
about the coyote,
the exploding man was holding it
by the scruff of its neck.
he was afraid to explode so long as he had this coyote
so I held out my sense of remorse,
and it went right in.
he said 'boom',
looked at his feet.
we kept going.
we didn’t have time to wait for the coast to clear
or exploding men to play their parts.
up above, we look to the skies
expecting the telephone poles to take off
and crackle at us.
the wind sounds like the sea
I mean that it is loud, and active
and that you can feel it with your eyes closed.
the man in front of me wears a beard like a face
and is in love with a girl
her head shaped like the moon
or an eyeball.
he talks about their courtship
about cutting meat with a butter knife.
he turns around and asks,
ever try and pick steak out of your teeth
using only your tongue?