O you, brandishing your whip into my
heart, brandishing your whip into
jazz. With my hand I pass over your
ear and your neck, into the dune.
The flat-foot eats small leaves of grass,
and pulls them apart.
Giants were hiding behind bricks.
I’m glued together out of
a belly, pieces of meat and soul.
I’m cute. When a nothing,
a steamboat, picks up a jacket,
it doesn’t exist. Your
mouth? My mouth? The sun needs
a cave to shove off.