the mouth of the couch

things slip in here ,   pictures
from the beach line
my underbelly, crumbs
for teeth, quarters dimes
  nickles are   uncontrollable
 remote eyes i use to spot
my prey. socks.
i like them. also lighters.
if could get a little oil
and snag some thumbs
i'd make this whole thing go up in flames.
  i don't hunt. i merely
want and wait
 for the bounty of the gods
to fall inside, to occupy
i feel most at home as portal.



















*(&







  my mind is  memory
 blocking foam
the kind that holds the shape
of the designers. you
can't sink into me, i'm
uncomfortably stiff unless
you have a bad back then
we understand each other.

the cat would love to sink her claws
into my hide. i have no give. i'm bark
a dog to chase her up a notable
lack of incoherence a thing in the middle of a space
in the quick stop of one second at a time. eternally.













*&






where is the heart?
 you ask

do furnishings need one?

where is my heart?
i ask.  smashed into bits
recombined, separated, united
pulsing and plussing
into and out of time.
electromagnetic occupier of rhyme.
reach between   forgiving thighs
feel the empty space of sigh.