Sled

Diction then, waits for us

to chop and sting. With girlfriends

at the elbows, rotten teeth

proceeding. What manages

to capture us is what hatches us back

in the end—I imagine. What catches

at our naps. Fattens limbs and faces

so as to detract from the actual

sabotage. Awful ain’t it,

that a camera’s illusory frame

can’t settle stomachs after snacks,

can’t catch the edges of its promised shot.

Promised shooting being not even

to mention the rest of what’s happening.

The explanation of a photograph—

all the truth it purports and makes

horrible, plain and present

is pure herring where read

letters fester. It is putting

in the proof. Vertical day

before ignoring, slipped in sleep

when bed’s too full of rest.

At best she’d snore important, lip

a sweet thing believed so meant.