Tuesday, December 17, 2013

The Heat Transfer Years

Warm tastes sweet
and sometimes bitter;
cold can seem salty
or sour. There are people
trying to sketch the wind,
talking like their mouths are
full of bread. The modern kids seem
vexed while they work on seizures
of sunlight. Everyone breaks
my face and I get hurt
by light blue. You can put the concave
part of a cool spoon against your lips
and practice kissing someone you miss
before eating your cereal. I come
to you in peace with the smell
of factory on my arms. To meld
with the world as only a martini
could once make you meld. Red and raised.
Aspirin tablets on brown dirt. To make
our hope real is to destroy it with red
and orange being warning colors.


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