"I don’t want to be smart in poems"
Can I kiss you?
Can I kiss the you that or who hasn’t been kissed?
Can I kiss the heat beneath you?
Can I kiss the buzzard of your faults?
Can I kiss the lyrics the singer forgot? I will kiss
Ella and Mack the Knife. Ella calls out her name.
I am making a wreck out of not being small, not a child
suctioned cupped to pity. I am kissing. Cheryl is making bluebirds
tell the truth or tip a bad waiter and dance and dance and dance.
The arms detached. I love that part. The blue basket out of blue.
I will kiss Lou Rawls instead.