this is a poem
about long arms
or possibly, short legs
I can’t tell which
because it is only half written
and there’s no invisible lemur
to explain to me
how a poem about long arms
should be written without
feet. I could tear a dactyl
off, or fly in a careful lizardly fashion
Up to the top of the mountain
that was the tallest in the world
40 million years ago. But flying so far
slows down the poetic process
and hurts even the most regularly sized arms.

And I am not an arms dealer.
I deal in hearts
I’m flush with clubs
and give it in spades
until the poem dies.

I mound it all up, all of it,
all of it until
it makes some sense
or it doesn’t.
then I bury it
in your subconscious
and hope you don’t realize
what this really says