Equinox (2)

by James Pate

She buried the canvas bag after the storm passed / a telephone rang inside, among white umbrellas / a man drove, his back to us / blood on his lapel / wet masks with no holes / legs dancing on the ledges / hedges of meat pierced by silver arrows / a blur among traffic, May showers / the storm clattered with leafy green noise /

She left the gun in the shoe, peppermint under the pillow / a man driving, tape over his eyes, his mouth / middle of April, Bradford pear trees in white flame / the car circled in the vacant lot / hedges of tinfoil in the miniature city /

The crowd undressed on the basketball court / our clothes soaked in water and oil / a rotary phone ringing in an empty gym / hedges of wire decorated in peacock feather / boxing gloves filled with pink candy / boxers exposing their inheritable wounds/

The mauve party raged downstairs / the sobbing party raged upstairs / the biting party waited nearby, dripping / she left the gun in the left pocket, next to the snorkel / a man drove, our guns at his throat / saying “orange” in red rooms /

We ate into their faces, their feet / we broke parts of wall and chair / we faded into windows and stiffer furniture / we undid windows / our hair, with fennel fronds in it /

The brightly-lit boxing ring /

The starved ones flexed, ever vigilant / the starved ones wore masks of melted wax / it was July, already snowing, gloves stiff with ice / thunder rumbled above the irrigation / she washed her feet over a pail warm milk / orange rooms filled with red pills / the woman driving, white scarf, black sneakers.