the sky belongs in my blood
by e.bojnowski


a chime gulps
through a landscape of candlesticks –

the moon ,
unsure of what antagonists really know,
allows the sky to bear its hierophant teeth
to illuminate the lime on the side of an old barn.

lichens smile
and
I want to shoot the sky back into my blood
while the
ferns cry :
“copy cat         copy cat           copy cat”

and

when
the moon cowered behind the earth
as a lengthy shadow
the
hills glistened with automobiles -
the sun like an eye
over the top of a pair of glasses.

and

in the sad hollow of trees
the birds mused like a circus

played on glockenspiel teeth
as
fat slid from the sun in soft globs

and you behave
as though
you could coax the night
to bend around a bed,

whistle through a dog’s muzzle,

and land in your book.

© 2007 prickofthespindle.com