scarce clouds were strained laces,
thin faces; all the wet glee
sucked from the air & swept
(don't know where)

cheeks lit up like a photoresistor,
the rest played Twister & mine was my sister
the line of sky; our limbs fail
(don't know why)

in the womb, a secret bruised: so they
once, uncurt, explained the brain contusion;
but she is uncut, unlame, I know
(don't know what)

grizzly mewl of her suction machine &
what's green will unclean grey;
as lean cataracts, so hay
(a snow of facts)

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