Pulled the sky down over ears.
Now we wear clouds for eyebrows.
And some make a commerical living on the trash.
A whole fleet of trash hawkers, trash sculptors, eaters.
We're pulling the sky down over them too -
now everybody can touch
with their sawed, or their squeaky raw clean
fingernails.
Pulled threads from it and poked them full of holes
for offices.
Or beat them with elbows and fits for roads.
Or swallowed them so our teeth look and our breath smells
like it.
Like something we shouldn't be touching.
Now the roof between here and there is an oil
splashed window,
burned to an uneven yellow.
Showing shadows instead of reflections.
And we're still pulling, eating it -
by the handful.
June 9, 2008
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