Thousand Things That Won’t Work

Fretting all night outside the walls like waking up scratching –

the itch – is on the inside;

And rollers on the heels of our feet

take us headlong into the crowd at Carnival.

She chooses not to turn up her hem at the beach

but to abandon dry, stationary things for the wild, wet mother

and be carried away once and forever by an unknown current

And who knows what hedonism is really or if pleasure may be

sustained or only touched triumphantly through a moment

hunted again and again

like the witches of days not so long gone –

redeemed only when they do not float

so their deaths take them as proof

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