Philip Muller & Curtis Perdue



we can protect ourselves
in cloudlines
be pretty be pretty
this country where trees
are growing all over your
face and flowers
bloom from your feet
go back into the water
at a high point
we live our best
we live slowly
with divide
discovering that this all
wilted as a falling kite
into the dunes
the wind the wind
lit to watch a streak
break into the open
many gather to hear
a dance before death
and walk away



thinking I feel like a rudder
I hold your body and it becomes aloe
like shoots and tiny daggers of wet larvae-ing
I take my head and throw it over the fence
I cross a field I turn back
rip the heart out from your levee and hand it
to every one of my friends by their hands
whirred our feet lifting off the ground

at the fair we become the YO-YO
you may call it THE ZIPPER
my most basic self recedes into a can
into an oven into the heart
you take your hand and throw it over
this life can infect
the whole tone of an already sink water gray day

for sure I know that I am not an insect
I am not a force and can be reckoned
terrified by our planetary industry
nothing is going over the fence



We must ask to participate
and muster disregard
There’s so much product shooting
at my face and this is my face
A phone hangs from the sky
A field of praying hands below
creates a certain heat
We see this as motivational
like a goat falling
out of your pocket
A notation of bounty
I’m shaking a mouthful of bells
to improve my sex appeal
And Nick is asking me
to speak more clearly
You couldn’t spot my next
step from the balcony
Let’s capture us
painting each other
with our fingers our tongues
can tell you something important
It’s a hammer in my stomach
and the squealing of
strings that sound
flamboyant in every way
There is couscous on the stove
if you like it



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