the topography of character:
leather
granite, fresh from the earth and unpolished
the texture of orange peels (or the sound they make when opened)
the lady cleaning my teeth said:
"your enamel has the texture of orange peels." and i could feel it when she ran the metal tools over them, all of the little bumps, fortifications against my weakness for sugar cookies.
the sky was stratified
the bone bark trees grew in a line
black earth like coffee grounds
covers of old books, with the fingerprints of our grandparents when they were our age
above our heads
straight up
you can go straight up without stopping
until you run into
something out in space
moon powder
(wouldn't it be nice to be moon powder)
(for a few minutes, i forget everything that i have learned- and it is in those minutes that i get most of my writing done.)
nostalgic corners
of the boxing ring
(up against the ropes
or under them)
you never know
whose gloves are plastered
(sometimes your own)
or when
in your opponents embrace
you find the unexpected
(kiss on the cheek)
(plastered gloves)
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