across the underside of a forearm.
what bled has turned foul.
my Blake is draped
over my men's button-up.
my blinkers are on.
i have a message, honey.
it's from you. it wonders
whether i go to my school.
i respond yes, yeah, yeah,
yeah. i want to say i do.
milk bludgeoned me with wings.
i play my lyre and you wield
your brushes.
we may bark up the wrong tree.
i may fight or flee.
my rookie hunch blows. a sense
of foreboding clouds my bedroom.
the episodes get shorter.
when i count to ten, i try
to keep going. i go past the calm
and into a burrow. my weeping
is no scandal. the latter
wants my breasts for bread.
swipe butter on me.
show me a band that plays and hope
for an encore, that they make me dance.
i'll flip my curls at you. the blue
dream of meeting you
is two words:
totally willing.
Amy Carlberg is from Toronto. She's pretty tall and a little mean but she makes a good friend sometimes. Her favorite drink is a Bloody Caesar.
