To be breathed
air has first to go through you,
and we breathe it slowly,

as if to smudge the kittens
eating half the yard
without piano accompaniment,

without which we're so tired,
without which the fire and our mouths
are so tired and so damned, orange
and open early, lipsticked,
rabbit-suited, pathetic

in the morning light,
swung on wood from wood.

And the arms in the dry leaves
and the leaves under the arms like stars
should be in a harmlessness
of worlds, sorry for the bundled faggots
quickly broken down,

during the same four and a half a.m.
when I was perfectly
willing on a swing-set to kill
bad law enforcements for you
and your sexual counterparts,
burnt kitten
and protected kitten.