oh, equals in the lips, so finely disguised,
a tall wanting, a petite wandering, two pigeons near
the ice wanting, a desiring wide on the ice
the fire, the brilliant hurting,
who can make a peace cry out with a hurt sword,
the rug, machine gentleman like, the couch split,
the luxuries offered, the rent hurt,
the crawling on the stairs stifled,
the desperation frocked in minutes,

all the commas that skin cannot but have,
a hurt multiplied on porch abysmals,
a depth in summer, of shadows,
near a crumpled playset, a swingset
focused magnetically, on a hand digging red clay
underneath, the skeletons calling

and the flesh on their newish lips, not quite alive