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| artwork by Leslie Ann O'Dell |
Let me show you -- beneath these lips are small pieces of iron giving refuge to oxygen. Hinged arms, could barely accommodate. Hear it rusting. This beautiful corrosion, I blush, and keep on blushing. Call me haunted. And take away my name by surrounding me with too little, (via osmosis) it escapes. Then fill and refill me. Give me more and then some. Use those lips to talk dirty -- say my name, Beak, Pitcher, River -- let me be all kinds of mouth all at once. Perhaps I can speak a language you'd understand. See my word, outlined in the gospel-crust of my cratered lips -- I've been waiting for you for so long, please arrive. And keep arriving.
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