By Marie Nunalee
tell me if you can
(without opening your mouth)
what it is about the
casting of the light
upon your brow
makes you think it
can be here makes
you think it can
be now
faces forward
manes grizzled
coiffures straightened
apertures caked shut
with super glue
pupils opened and
unended and unblinking
they await
your rainbow beam ejaculate
will it greet them with a
start in the dusty darkened
corners?
will it shower down
upon their heavy
calcium crowns
thin copper chips
from amber nimbus
clouds?
Clutching at Straws 