sees his reflection in a pool of splintered wood
that he created through his finger-broken hood
so he stitched in
spelled a word he couldn’t read
and he faked it
silhouetted like a steed
he asked his mother for the crimes she could recite
before he forgot ‘em
before he learned how to fight
so he got up
overalls pinned down with floods
he hadn’t worn those things …
but he held them
with a fist grated in
knuckles he created deep in his reflection
and in a haze of cracked grasses
out among the shadows of the days
and out
so she digs in among the gravel and the wires
pulls out our pockets and a smile for the fires
and the tac tac tac of the dumpsters she has found
in the dirt roads beyond the cars beyond the sound
she follows waters
tries to look inside its hairs
but feels those raccoons in the streets under her stairs
and she’d listen for a cry inside the night
yeah, she’d listen for its fog for its light
so we’re flannel
in a Bronco made of green
with our feathers
made of green, green, green
green oceans
red sands
faltered photos
altered land
but we’ll swim
we’ll shift our feet, at least
fall under jetties
coral underneath our veins
see our reflection in a cement block of guts
holding stronger than all those late-night bedroom songs
look at the walls, now
they are speaking at your veins
they may be falling
toward a red plastic swing of flames
but he keeps moving
she blinks her plaid, plaid eyes
see a reflection
there is no guide.
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