kings were in place
on the sole
the sleigh bell shingle,
clamor and lime,
just a pinch, of
lime juice falls from the table
to the dust
we met the spur
the spur wants to stay
we laugh, like crutches
for the sake of a slab, the sake of the dead
who might join us to the floor
pinwheels offset, tell us we are here,
we must go, but grrr we are asked to remove
our spurs
from the ground up
floor is wide
dust is wide
clamor, cattle, the girdle of a horse
settles
calouses hidden between the spurs
do not ache, it is cuticles who stumble
like possums in disawareness
the awkwardness of their pain
of devices, silver,
of show, of screening, of "a" time long gone
like it was a friend, a haircut
a jacket, a floor
April, 2014