f i s t e d
: j o h n b r y a n
to do with little f's
of body and mind.
these women who wish
to be born as gloves.
a solitary appendage
when five are required,
tenuously bound to the outer
rim of a nervous, sweaty palm.
boldly gesturing at the boundaries
of musky, deep space with the
latest advances in puppetry
- oh to feel a babies' head ...
the ventriloquists' dummy talks
while my mouth is gaffed by
gulpfuls of water from a thrusted glass
with waves goodbye
- why you still walk ! despite puppet legs ! ...
where did your ventriloquist go
his confident, firm grip proudly clasping
the insignificant shake of my
insipid, flighty flesh.
had my Buzz Aldrin digits been your Neil Armstrong's
i would have used my writing hand
a memory quote worthy.
attempts to pluck your words
knotted, entwined: your fIRST !! - all too fleeting,
they've already been snatched,
finally grabbing silence, you cup your mouth
after taking your foot out