old man winter's voice creaks over the rusted sky bottoms and the children promptly fall asleep. promptly fall down. the cushiony sound of diapers. crackling voices. pressed underneath. dust niffs up from the carpet where feet step; settles down into little cities i will accidentally stomp on someday. today i am content to look at their patterns in the carpet. my arm hangs off the sofa.

[ in some great dust forest at dusk i remember chucky labouda with the braces and flailing fists. knuckles and ankles and sounds. blood amongst drool. stumbling down a muddy hill. eyes scratched from pictures with pencil lead. ]

in which i utter of my own emotion feelers































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the digestive system >