Atlanta is the capital
and most populous
city of Georgia, with an estimated
body of 432,000 people.
On Thursday nights, your parents
go out bowling. We make
macaroni, put in a Hitchcock.
Atlanta is marked by rolling
hills and dense tree coverage.
Geographically, the mattress
has lakes, sheets with natural
structures, mountains. In Atlanta,
we have paused the film—
your mouth filled and mine
silent and enjoying and filled
with an undetectable red thrill—
mid-scene with the lady
whose wide mouth is torn,
then sewn by birds.
Father leads me down to the stream picks boysenberries files them spine-style across the grass pairs colors with emotions gives passion muskweed green desire sunshine purple catches the sunshine desire in his mouth ties the stems of it with his tongue sees a cat by the stream Do you see the cat by the stream? Father sees the cat by the stream Father points to the cat says here kitty here Father is a good man who wants me to see the cat by the stream I think I see the shadow I think it is curling away.
Field Sermon #21: On Abstinence
The girl doesn’t care about Philadelphia anymore.
About what Elvis would say to that. Today is all about
the bees. It hasn’t been this way since her lips met a bee
in a beer can the summer before seventh grade. This made her
feel like Jesus. Today, the girl hopes
she will be stung in the mirror.