CALCIUM


Transfigured, my gait,
By the calcium--
Think of the traffic

Clotting up your knee.
No wonder at night
The "streets" fill up with

Radio static. The
Bats dangling in the
Eaves shiver. She runs

Her fingers over
The kneecap, that skin
Pocked with the realism

Of the face of the
Moon. I am breathing
On the many spines

In rows at the library.
It hurts, that floating
Moonrock. The hair on

My arms stands up, as
When each hem is raised
Or gently pushed aside--

Not spoons, but a knife
And fork, the blue vein
In my thigh. I like

The old, yellow envelopes
Taped inside the book
Jackets, and the dates

Stamped there, the feel of
The well used pages,
Bleeding down to the heart.


***
a nod to Aaron Fagan's Garage