Remind me again when moon pores run deep, boring needily for sweat that forgets what it is to course their way out, to toss them the boots that hug tight bare feet, to listen, and to hear from them the thump that bounces back--in time to meet my bouncing away.
Selah
I will have grown by then not only out of my own old jokes, but will have out of the rearing of the whites of my hair, grown tails that drag along with them those who, hurriedly seizing upon my very laughter, tear themselves apart thereby in overjoy as I bring them in due time to where time herself courts starvelings of their own like.