P h i l i p S o r e n s o n —

a blond wig 

behold!

some fat cables asleep on the ocean floor

asleep

muttering

muttering

elegant hotels

butterfly bush and wild carrot grown together

fingers wide

in me each a living soul

somewhere very small

it is feathery the we

once it was a long fissure

then she comes tied to herself my face

tapping and tapping

yours the apple blossoms that litter the yard

a harmony curling over the grass

calls out from the insect hole take my photograph

I am the yellow bricks

a curtain on the yellow bricks

flowering onions attracting flying insects

unwrap the dry

black seeds and winter

where we will undress in towers

becoming lurid green cups

what kind of body is this

I am the morning a mood

and red all afternoon

even into the night

the sun is still inside of me

a paper-wrapped body

a spotlight pointed into my stomach

sorcery

my bare legs

are perfectly smooth

as quiet as

a wig box

asleep

a pump

harmonium whirring

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE and GGGGGGGGGGGGGG

I’ve been sewn into a green cape

sewn into a cinched-up cape

heavy

starless night

.