I feinted left
There was a whine
My spine kinked
I moaned and dropped
She walked the archer’s slow
She held the staple gun
I heard bees
The loam was cold
She perched on my back
under the drawn shoulders
She moved slow
I gave a whine
She pulled the thorn
My blood made steam
She palmed it like a tooth
She kept it there
She had seen me in Austin
She had aped architecture;
Moved like the Pepsi-Cola wave
She had seen me in Chicago
dancing the standing-still;
sewn microphones into my coats
She had seen me in Albany
sleeping behind a drum kit
Her eyes in the snare drum
The head had trembled
The subway below the loam moaned
She perched like a warm bird
Her small hand moved
I knew that I was prey