Don’t! melt until I’ve lit you.
Covered to the neck. A sheet to morph you, size the shine on your
in the metal chair, like an uncorked bottle. Cross
at the elbows, look down at the ants.
cavort until I’ve snapped. We’ll have some when he’s over. Come under. An object
could fall on top of you at any moment. It might be a person.
Tar stretches like a bird’s foot. Maybe life’s a nude
picnic, then the tar comes in with the tide and I’m dyed
blue, wearing a net. I can take my own
pictures, thank you. I can deal with some glare.
If you’re thinking,
it’s not my place to guess what. Maybe this dead coral you’re posing with
puts your father in your head. Maybe a dead
pillow or a case packed. Hide it
behind your face.