...makes some rotten butter. Now there's a mixed metaphor.
These Distracted Prayers
Oh, my eyes
are on the carpet today. It's dirty,
full of worn threads and speckles of
spilled things and flattened by
my ragged feet, my ragged feet. Oh,
Oh, my feet
I'm ripping up today. They're filthy, worn
tough from walking over this floor and
walking over this floor and walking,
walking over this floor. Oh,
out you go, feet. Enough of you, little
ugly things, misshapen toes and dirt
in the nail-corners. Oh,
babies with hands like caterpillars curling up
when you touch them. Cats
curling up when you don't touch them, sleeping
for hours alone. Hands
in their listless mooning, searching
for lost keys.
I don't want tomorrow, I don't want tomorrow
to come now. I'm tired,
I'm tired. I don't want
tomorrow to come.
My nose slopes down from my eyes, always
in the way of anything, its tip. My mouth
I only see when I stick out my lip.
