Spinning

the memory is always itchy
killing and creating boogieman
out of paper mache
I with poets tongue
mamas mouth
preacher voice and dangerous yesterday
cut into us
shark teeth until we bleed
the simple of us

dig my toes in the clay
til we know which way we stand
and where we headed
I am fire and snow
confused by the sun
don't know dark from day

depending on how the wind blow
we just friends or lovers
don't know which to do
this windmill round and round

got my butter fingers
reaching for better days
more solid than this sand we stand

I am dizzy over all this

spin