carousel

How naïve I was in the water,
this doorbell belongs to you.

This is a chip in the side,
but you don’t mind.

You were this steam
No one could noodle.

Nowadays, I sit by the bank
scratching mud off my side belly.

There was substance there,
a carousel to house each storm.

I still pluck whole couches,
thesis, and fist that tangle


my long long hair.