![[ pinhole ]](/images/p/pinhole.gif)
boxlid sky closed
on clay landscapes &
move- stop- motion-
mother sews her child's scar,
kisses with textile mouth rough
& whores beckon woolsoft
to cottonvomit bums
pssst
and her sex bleeds slow,
crinkled like cellophane.
outside,
smokers clack lighters,
rusty gauze flames upward.
curse you, velour star.
curse you, godblinking moon.
one. lightbulbs; thrown—
( snap!nihilist,
buzz&
out.
tungsten, glass:
nothing inside.)
two. matchbooks—
( stolen, flicked,
arc ashes burni
n
g
an
icarus flight. )
three. lightning—
( rooftop, arms out:
franklin jars
baited phosphoric:
strikE! )
i
( yes,
little icecream me )
tug at
the circusman's
cirrostratus stilts.
up:up:up:up:
voice goes
like a
ferriswheel prayer ( i
don't
know
alphabets &
times
tables
mister,
but why are you
painting my bigtop
in Camouflage? )
zeppelin body drifts—
he corners
on wading-crane legs
to look down
as best
he
can.
mustard hydrogen-puffed lungs;
echo(gas)
chamber explanations
hide the
war
skinn
i
ness;
"because, all children
are poor."
Daniel Wheatley lives quietly in the roar of D.C. He keeps a daily writing journal at grammatarium.wordpress.com in the hopes that one day he'll figure out why he keeps a daily writing journal. No such luck yet.