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

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