March 27, 2009

Welcome. You’ll be good. A jaw infused
with appointed energy, and a brain

the diameter of a crown. You will
not have paradise—not yet, right angles

and endless repairs of etceteras.
The world will be a lover’s apple to

fuss about, your heart an adding machine
with zero to solve. What it is to be

made of feelings. Somewhere ceiling tiles
fall out and break. See how it will happen—

you’ll lose your lovely coloring, and your
tiny spine will have to bend, bend, and bend.

[via]