The Start, Dark Red Hair

by Matt O’Toole

Older gums speed like marbles,
Big hips sit at, playing machines,
Their clips they drip over full bodies,
Like sullen wool.
The hanging birds hang near quiet windows-
On sleeping, weekday mornings.
Super shark and daddy gum swim away to,
Linger in glass bottles-
They barley crow into their tired empty jar’s.
Then at midnight and midday, the midwife-
Working on the shipping docks of dark red curtains, Stop-
Her delicate box, though-
Still holding cotton bags of,
White whispered words.
Words sang crumpled in doorways-
Sang on rocked limbs like soft pipes.
I don’t crawl into the night, and don’t,
Carry my heart in a bucket like a beast.
I carefully step my filthy posture,
And avoid the turning leech.

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