discarded words from my cross cuts

discarded words recovered from my cross outs

on the hull
soft idling sparingly
so fine in loud damp
lost where we lounged,
hiding it from the days

the trail in the rich,
on the back of dainty nails
making rhythms overturned
to illustrate the ring finger,
did she ever see it?

a resurrected clipping,
band-aid sized,
acacias from savannas
an ice cream truck plays a jingle:
chicken in the straw

now i think of us as part
of self/nonself discrimination
feels like path dynamics
in semi arid systems
sleeping through
a self inflicted leaf

hanging tight to scraps
of conversation, a tolerance
for chess or chance, i'll take
a piece of chess pie
a slice of oklahoma