Literature
retching, wretched
remember in the heat of june,
when the town banned thirty minute showers,
sprinklers, washing your car, and you tried to run the well dry
pumping up-down on the curse of long fingers,
reaching inside yourself in thirty-three swan dives
and coming back emptier each time
remember lying yourself bare in moonlight,
spine stretched to the sky in a string of stars,
hair tied up in a nest of split ends,
undulating with the summer heat
fireworks going off behind your eyes,
the explosions in the sky lighting you up
in six shades of guilty and green
remember the after dinner walks,
where clearing your head
meant clearing your body:
grazing the