Lift these four bedposts beyond the rise of sky,
I’m sick from the clouds and earth, I don’t hunger
for my lunch of raised plastic numbers and advertisements
which allow me to grow chest chair.

                          what’s amazing about you
is this role-playing . . . out of thin air
I’m a cop from the 40’s, you know with a fine hat
trying to estimate the seam where liquor meets
your blouse, it’s somewhere musical
                                     (though not
improbable)

in a city which promises only commercials
you’re rare eucharist which I kneed under my tongue
in two languages for a period of time

                    and all the priests search
through the usual smock of stained glass
to hang me . . .

Phil Primeau is manager of PERSISTENCIA*PRESS and editor of Dirt, a print 'zine of minimalist poetry and poetics. His work has been published in Listenlight, RealPoetik, Bolts of Silk, Moria, and Eratio, among other venues.