Sun Spots

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Let me bask in the curl of sunlight with feline flop,
Lounging in liquid heat cast through windows, through pain.
Polish me in water’s stroke, smoothing rough edges to blend
into limestone, blossom into fruit.

I fall asleep in cars, nod off on trains, lulled in vibration
until slam of door, tug of sleeve, the soft blow of
dust seasoning greasewoods with the brine of
daydreams and a hand upon my cheek.

Give me the fetal tuck, the moth pull into flame,
wrapped in cocoons of monarchs and honeysuckles
unready to snuff out the sunset as I exhale bruised
smoke, feeding my addiction to light.

I do not wish to fill in the blanks,
tap and refresh screens of car wrecks and politicking
spoken from polished lips in pencil skirts,
or toil in status, walking along the electric sag of lines.

I am bird on wire, indifferent to
the roar of engines under polished hoods of pretense,
tuning out the din of second guesses and doubt.

No participation while the sun melts and
strokes my spine, when light is upon my eyes and
the unfinished canvas is behind closed lids,
painting my tomorrows.

 

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