crack in the foundation
And still pigeon, dimly lit and lousy enabler, ya seep through morning stewing in sunny juices
How we shew ya away through each sleep,
Finishing nails in my mouth, Christ almighty, I add a bird feeder for your cousin Judy,
You straw-bearing, you seep, roof in roof. Come here. It's Thanksgiving's roof.
Last Wednesday. You failed a mail test (RIP). We'll hang it on the foundation's beam of our three story garage.
My husband gets excited every time our neighbour Angela makes a sandwich, and rattles her lemonade cups, all icy and nicy.
Wifey! Retrofit seeps drips and trees drip morning.
Across our morning, across television dinners, through failed wheat. How trees map out digestion.
Rock rock rock rock paper scissos scone. Each brick is a wink in a sneezing love affair. My wife sits on the phonebook. Through our still.
And Angela and my wife are still across the river, copy-editing Miami Vice colouring books. Ginger Root lemonade. My cousin Beth is still dripping dry in cement, you are still firm in the morning son, through failed trees, that turned into paper, that failed to portray people wearing clothing and failed all in you. A lash across you of lightening and enlightenment. How you seep trees and drip our morning weather vain weakness.
You and your dashing morning. Our sleep all through your dirty blonde hair that stinks. Roots, grains. You rain. How do you house, how?