Spring: Curriculum
I, am a necklace
of teeth. Worn
ragged and jagged,
from chewing on
careless thoughts.
Form cannot meet
function, unless
I fit around
your neck. Look,
at the gaudy soles
of your feet and,
tell me: What good
are they, without
an altimeter?
Man has stepped
on the moon. Or
at least Hollywood
tells me that’s true:
But God didn’t wave
from the clouds
and cough at our
expense.
And so who owns
the sea? Water
doesn’t carry
a price tag, unless
it runs under
our feet and
trickles to the lips
from spigots.
I just don’t know
anything, anymore.
