He made me a boat out of toothpicks.
He promised me it would float or fly
~ or at least stay sound upon the sea.
Then
in a solitary moment
single and startling
it broke.
Determined to find a purpose for what had been
I swallowed each part.
Each stick entered my throat
tongue catapulting wood
splinters bouncing.
That Which Pierces My
Innards Is As Constant As
The Fluttering Eyelashes
Of A
Weeping Child.
If I could only listen by the shore
to the lines and circles of the Water's libido
desires for his prize
might fade
to the tune
of a quiet splash.
