Mortician’s knit—1—purl—2 climbs
temple to temple:
slippery threading closing a parted
peony & poppy brain, giggling
still. Beneath a red
handkerchief, waxen eyes,
pronounced floppy eye
lashes. My cartoon fox
trounced with a delicious anvil,
metallic kiss to vein. Absence of a movable
mercury mouth, quiet won over. Wrists
in line & bones never more
connected. Wait. I should brace
to realize the lax-sewn valley between
scrubbed nipples. Someone’s heart
was excavated & weighed today for
the first time, not-echoing, on
metal. The blisterlight resounds secular &
sops up corners, maybe eyes.