Our world is slanted.
Like black top, it delivers
the tires, the corroded steel —
(the tempered metal).
I reach for a blackened sky,
come down like a white feather.
You reach there
find me brittle,
And now, the cat’s rheumy eyes;
you let it out, seem awake in your sleep.
I am awake in my sleep!
Dreams take us to where the child
lies between us, slumbers.
We whimper — currents in our bodies, meridians.
What does the road hold for us?
The curl of grass?
We hope for bright light, a rich sun
to move through curtains,
blankets across our legs —
my hands are like that,
like lightning rods —
it’s simple to become anything.
I watch as the magnets touch your shoulder,
wake her and caress her temples.
Sometimes, a sparrow will crush
the seed you put out for it, sometimes
the squirrel, a thief, gorges,
and nothing is left.
In my mind, I have the spark of gears.
I shut your eyes, a slight touch of my hand:
it has just begun to shine through.
Kevin Finn is a poet, visual artist, and recording artist living in Pittsburgh, PA, USA. His website is www.kevinfinnmusic.com