with his sticky and his merging. A brother and a friend

in a truck in a bed, and oranges and pumpkins and Oreos

and a bicyclist and all things fast and red. A man, a cigar

and the cigar’s cigarette and a stain, a hand and coffee

in a bottle and a baby and the smell, the mud and the slip

in a town, in a jungle, in an ocean, in a box, and you

and me, a part of me, and then some more of me but not all

and some uncles, and some cousins, and aunts four to one

for change, we’re changing, and some Coke, a cockroach,

and something frozen, and a threat, and witchcraft, even

some spiders and worms and skin, and a hang, bananas,

a shower, ripeness, and cooking and calling and trotting,

yes I said trotting, dripping, part flowing, converging

three spirals, a vortex, four suctions, five or six big bangs

and a largeness, a whizzing, an uncomfortable silence, and

finally, finally something I can squeeze into nicely.