Back and Body

They warned you to get over yourself.

But you didn’t

 

Mexican street corn venders


Of the Stone Age


Pour a pint into your gullet


 

And your pupils shrivel inside out


Like a contact lens pressed


In the opposite way of its natural synthetic form


 

The center of the room gets


Very near; surrounding objects


Blur out

Like the taste of your third glass of wine


 

Looking down, there’s a whole 


In the ground


Into which you spit


Your teeth and vertebrae.




Like the jib without a good gust,

Your now spineless body


Crumples

 

Your mind walks away


It can do much better anyway


 

It finds an interesting face 


And crawls in;


Unpacks, washes up. 


 

Making itself at home,


It watches the Chinese Cherry Trees bloom

Through dry eyes for a change