andwich

This is a poem in which I tap my body 
against the curb to knock off fingerlings of ash.

This is a poem in which I jangle my heart 
like coins in my pocket as if I have love to spend.

This is a poem in which I bite the world 
and rivers of peach juice run down my chin.

This is a poem in which I'm cooked – I caramelize 
at 425° after 2 hrs. You may prefer this version of me.

This is a poem in which I play Three-Card-Monty 
with rage, skull, & star. Pay your money, take your pick.

This is a poem from which I vanish – vamoose is both
an animal and the color inside a mirror.

For Shay’s Word Garden