not, knot
by Carrie Lorig


I can't seem to anything
speak the same language. I known

                            tree kisser
puckered pressure until barked
at him,
"What if hole is too a knot?"

Someone's balloon skins.

                                                        Are ribbons everywhere?

A stomach hover. Dark sand sweats
and a grain slip, a grain sleep closer

inside and all feel a soft
bout to bleed.

I cannot get through hair tangled in the way
only water does.
                                       But am I here to think I could

bring you joy? Right junk

go fly into the mouth of arms. Oil float
to the top
                                       of words, of paused palms

a mile or two outside
biblical meaning. I could mean anything.

I mean anything
so he rind me with pretend

                            kiss
                            motion,
                                                        no
                            arms.

I dead the sea stroke.
Armhole, airhole, armhole, airhole

clean through
a little piece.

Be through with a little piece, but not

call it
a bullethole, why?