Spliced

Check­ing the answer machine
I find I’m ruled by atomic curi­os­ity
Taste per­ma­frost on my upper lip

Here you are with your legs bent
Knees crooked to your face
Embra­cing your thighs

Blood spots taint the fridge white
Let­ters come with red-marked irrel­ev­ance
Quiet for learn­ing how purple life grows

A screen of darkened street wash down
Your bed is so much single cur­rency
Cornered in a shoe­box under the stairs

You keep your sheets tight knot­ted
Press a leak­ing pil­low to your own face
When all the fig­ures start adding up

I swirl saliva, leave spit on your tongue
So the sol­it­ary plant stays alive
For a quar­tet of dry winters