openMic poem

I haven't taken many photos recently, but here's a poem. I read it at an open mic last night.

//--

she turns to me, and opens her mouth.
there's a sound, like something tiny
has cracked.

like time is tiny,
like a television is tiny,
a tiny crumbling covering.

she loves riding bareback, the galloping ant,
"I love ants, like strange horses," she said,
leading the beast to the barn.

the fat woman reaches over me
for her glasses, so she can read.

"it's late," she tells me.

something thuds on the door like a newspaper,

her belly is big. when I touch, she says,
"I can feel him winding up,"
then gives birth to a clock.

"fat woman," I say, "I am in love with someone else,"
but the legs of the spider tick,
and sew my teeth together.

I wade through melted ice cream
to your mouth, in a more fortunate time,
where glass ships sail the prism winds

where red light is husked away,
and pushes us blue and yellowly

to islands, with awful jetties.
the equatorial easterly blows our hut,
the westerly, easterly, westerly --
it's like a footstepping,

and a footstep is a kiss
and a kiss is a second less
of what is measured
when anything is measured.

if I had to choose your most charming feature
I would say, "bring me a menu."
the waiter points, rudely:
"the skull is the easiest bone to identify."

but I'll tell you later, under the table:
it's your ring finger.

the fat woman says,
"I want my money's worth!
I want to fall forward into a soft pillow
of what I deserve."

but the seed wasn't designed properly,
and the shell is very hard.

nothing can get in, thank god,
but nothing will get out.