with plans that required deadlines to move
we took brown bags to our faces
and inhaled ammunition
on the lines on our Achilles
where true or false blend into scabs
we used naive looks
to insist we weren't bleeding
how have we not noticed
the lives of soldiers creaking the floorboards?
or the dried iron we left
the last time we were drunk?
but with lavish instruments of design
we've fashioned our framework
so as not to include the fleshy baggage
on every elevator shaft
in what direction will judgment pass?
even in this brown bag
i'm still feeling dizzy
like a Carolina wren whose
intuition for lead lines is sending her
north for the winter
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