Monday, May 3, 2010

Saints Philip and James (patrons of hatters & pastry chefs)

you take a bite out of my bed

as if it were a pink cake, as if

it were something to be eaten.

the frosting can’t withstand

this heat. I can’t keep it looped

up in tiny peaks, like mountains

like clouds we brought home.

I feed the tadpoles in the bowl

on the counter nothing but

the sugar that puddles on the floor.

...will they ever grow legs? will they

question this life as much as I do?

will they live long enough

to ask?

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