My brains on the floor
All my drapings and needs,
my 26 years, my yellowness.
Exchange of violets and bread basket dinners.
My mother, my father, my needyness.
The streets I am released
to Bay Street with its holding
only lasts the chariot-sway.
Clean horse-bit lives.
This is what I was running
for or from in that hesitation
of sound before (big raised up clatter)
Squatting in red shorts
near the TV tray.
like Leda en pointe
on a lake much too big for this City
Egylantine and runny
container of everything.
A radish in the stop light.
You are my hands, you are my sight
The last orange light
ankle deep in Wonderland Avenue carpet
the way the turning-streets turn up here!
Down the canyon through the long long clear tape of years.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 38 | Fall 2012