Lub Lub Goose
My tongue stays wet inside my mouth,
and when there is air there is a podunk
little sea under the skin of my face and my tongue
rests there it takes a floppy bath.
But I think about my jaw and how it
sits just off my want-jaw and how the
low jaw right side teeth ridge curves in,
a mountain range bashful of a lake.
And when I sit myself like a tongue
in the filthy face hole ocean my
tongue in tongue sits in wet in dry
and the whole sky lives a circus inside me.
I gulp it like a tiny church built
on a dry God-wafer. I speak face to face
with God every day and I burn like
Moses with shame He speaks
in quatrains and I have learned to bracket
my sadness when I masturbate. I bought
three dogs and gave them a choice:
here is a tongue here is a wet lily here
is the scent of a star.
They took their time they barked they
barked a lot, I grow tired every evening
brings me closer to every evening here,
take my temperature away give me
a nod give me a twinkle give me
some sign you can hear me and see
the flash of God’s voice off my stretchy skin.
Janus of the Cranes
swing one too long metal face
at the hinge of another and swing
me spaghetti squash noodle unspool
me and make me feel pain
I can only pass on my belongings
from the me in memory to me
if first the counterweights rumble
and the hot tear of your flat grin
and the angry oil gleam of your skin
time is a string of metonyms
and the self is a popcorn wreath
with the small sucking mouth baby
feeling its way from kernel to kernel
this is the best pizza in new york
Janus of the Cranes allow me
to keep my sentiment or barring that
allow me to forget