Car doors, bricks, a drill press-
I've broken my hands thousands of times
because I'm afraid of what they can do.
Seizures of black-and-white photos,
sixteen millimeter film. Flash,
flash and framed in spider-leg light.
Smile falsely and the piano hammers
unbearably loud. Is it a stream of blood
or a forgotten plant's winged roots?
When I die brokenhearted, bandages
will muffle the paradise I choke
from your electric fence, but know
that I knocked, openmouthed in a sarabanding
rain. Your Christmas cactus will bloom
fluorescent - terrible beauties will appear
on the orphaned child's tongue.
-- Alex Lemon