Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Foot, Tongue, Boot

bones, thirty-
three joints,
one hundred
and tendons,
of thousands
of miles;
who could forget
that dish
of hard candy,
ten lollipops
to worship—red,
green, peachy
as the day
God made them.
What foot lives
without a tongue
to soothe it? 
The boot heats up
the confusion
my mind is—
I raise to my nose,
sniff you out
when elsewhere
rules the hour,
has you all
to itself, like
a bloodhound
on a leash,
for the fugitive's
return to the scene
of the crime. 

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