seeds roll in wind
towards trouble
sometimes towards a good thing
sometimes seeds wrap up in a corn husk
and look out through glass eyes
watching a parking violation
glass eyes look out of a corn husk
watching broad peach flesh and
homosexual sweetness
thinking about the fictional game of
tennis – remembering how it went with
our short white clothes and flushed faces
hours of numb child bridal
with no volition
rolling around sweaty and bored
confused confused
nobody knows where you are
and they want you home
i was never in love
just corn husk trouble
