Sleeping on Rollerskates by Martin Marriott
Cover art by the author
BUTTONS ARE THE LITTLE JEWEL-CHILDREN THAT ROLL
DOWN SILVER HILLS AND TURN RED
Minutes are climbing up my spine to get a better view of tomorrow
A dog is relentless
The sky is dreadful
The beach is boiling and pregnant
A cat is hoping my tail will curl around it's
Belt-buckles are light-bulbs that want to be touched
Nipples have no regrets, only bibles
Reptiles are digging in to the loose change beneath the car seat
A point is pointless
Always is the name of you your endless repetition is a bridge to the sunlit meadow I never write of
A desk is on its side & glancing at an ass swaying past
Danger is just a historical left-over, the inherited memory of a tiny tail
A roof is where you are waiting for me
Feet are holding hands
NOW IS A PIECE OF FURNITURE WAITING FOR MUSIC
Sitting in his ribcage
Making drunk talk with the other smalls
Always the red hair of brooding with its iron belt
Always the Space Needle in its silken negligee
Always fireflies eating Wisconsin
Always I see me, climbing out of the cement on 15 th
Always me and you
Always the twin towers being played in reverse
I am being eaten by a golf-course
Always the lake, with its blue ferns, its orthopedic mattress
Always the lake, with its fried legs
Always the desire of the third-story window
to hurl itself at the sidewalk
Always the sidewalk, with its grinning teeth.
Every new light awaits your arrival
A posse of wet mice drag a broken-down U-haul around the corner
Scientists announce the invention of porridge
MY WOMAN WHO IS HEAT AND FIRE
My woman who is heat and fire
My woman who is ribcage in a bird of 11 wings
She is a turret I am climbing into
Charcoal glances chandelier eyes rosebud fingertips
She is a stranger she is melting
Her eyelashes have run away from the sofa
To give birth to a green vase on a mountaintop
Goat-herder basement-stretcher rabble-rouser
Cousin to the elephant
Sister to a glass of water
Her toenails contain symphonies
My woman who is gray particles dissolving when they lower the shutters of the verandah
My love who is horse-hair-honest
My woman from whose lips the sun begins its flight
The moon can balance on her nose
My love who is the intimate of electricity
She is a triangle in a telephone booth around which many dogs are barking
My love is a fisherwoman
Her belly brings the sun to its knees
She is the ears of the day