we stomp the marsh of lost lost lake.
the jolts quake ten feet back.

where sundews sweat an oil that attracts insects
and ensnarls them - a clumsy food - we jump
and swim and compel a ground that
only grows over the water.

my forearm, dotted with mosquito bites.

a gunshot scares zarathustra all the way
to the beginning of the trail.

my chest sweats its own lake,
lost over the bulge of a thousand whiskeys
and a snailing metabolism.

jut, amy, sam, (******), and i are a tremendous group.
our smiles are real,
so hard to find anymore.

swimming in wine and beauty,
we tumble towards a gigantic sleep.

8 june 2009