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letting go of coats
trampled like leaves
by heavy footed cold and
thick as orange peel wind

resting for a second in
the dimly lit entryway
on the carpet rough as bark
before cracking milkweed pods

filled with honey and leftover
warm fuzz of sleep without alarms
which crystallizes but never goes bad
into steaming coffee

bad weather groan following me for
miles beat into the stairs
newspaper rotting like vegetables
i am still moving, unable to stop

shaking like a clothesline
pins sticking out
of pockets and breaking pens,
breaking off antennas,

wrapped in a blanket
comfort rises like bread
dry heat makes veins in the hand balloon,
raisins burst in the dough

a tired broken grape lost
sets the table
watches thin lace kiss the strong
steel necks of forks and knives.

i italicized particular lines i am not satisfied with.

-carrie

test test

let because sleep in the ground until the weekend’s over.

Your love blisters against the knife handle.
Your blisters chisel the prints off your skin.
I’ll never find the right bandages. You were
bloodletting too: So, What?

And I’ll never bloom the pea flowers, or the
sour, sour fruit, with the stem brooked
against the ridge of your tongue meaning

the place where you remember Germany,
and the way you feel about steel.  The way
you feel about wood is different because:

It makes you warmer, like how wine
makes you sleepy, like the ramble of
a clumsy accent, your mouth is also

different because it is the morning after
daylight savings, or, after veteran’s day
and the way you wake up to the sooner

morning before there is a raison d’être.
c’est la meilleure raison d’être:
Je n’ai pas une raison de se réveiller
When there is no reason to be awake.

Le plus de soleil: the less explanation.
I don’t want to be subordinated with
your spare clauses, nor parsed for clarity.

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