waking with drooling lateralism under

a well of concussed songs and the headrest item cairn.

we found coked quiescence between stolen

sheets and the stuffed mouse under your grandma’s jacket

in god’s original morning,

the afternoon.

the mouse’s name is molasses, and she

has proselytism in her thin fabric paws.

we gave her a name smoking laughter. we gave

her an item and another condign name that got caught in your throat silly noodle.

the touch fuses, and plummets

from the clouds we watch

to the eyes we recover.

we’re tucking the nominalizations behind the headrest

while snacking on sobriquets. our snooping

creations find me the least convincing.

 

the cat is chewing on the queue,

and it skips around the well’s walls.

the music tunnels us to sleep again without the day passing.

there’s a name for this somewhere,

me on your side and drooling.

 

 

sep08 – brennan mcmullen

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