Sunday, February 8, 2009

The Hour is a Mechanical Sheet

Kumaya stands transparent wishing
she could melt like white snow,
dragging her eight footed arms
against a plastic wall.
Crickets gather around jumping rope,
housing mosquito souls in
a cardboard box.

Kumaya used to be high on life
traveling in circles. A future
wife dripping meter, she
wheels her lover's squirrel to a fire room.
Pushing in silence scratching a big smile,
she thinks about the sea hour sailing
past her wedding gown.

Kumaya lost four sets of eyes,
two pairs of flaming hearts and
eight footed arms.
Kumaya subtly clumps her teeth,
sucking on her lover's molecules in
a feathered chemical soup.

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