It’s been miles since
and still, little pink,
you shed amber
glow in my palm,
gurgle-chirp
in your cradle
of nebulous honey.
It sings for me to reenter familiar steps. It calls my right hand
home under my katana’s guard and for my knees to bend as I wait
for the rhythm. It is a pity most never see the end of this dance.
where is your blubber? it is colder here than you
in this nuclear winter untouched by sun, this liminal
territory peopled by animals, inhabited by blondes
and blue-eyes. you don’t see the history of predation:
I want to make my own
karaben (character) bento,
buy the freshest strawberries
cutting them into hearts
then sprinkling on the sugar.
Kaboom my chokehole and I will sing for you.
That is, I am out of caps and need help limping.
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