Small bottle of Svedka, empty;
talismanic of it's consumption
out of reasonable proportion.
Lifting up the internet in one clean and jerk
as if it were something illicit
and needed to be moved quickly
to a place of camouflage
where a complex architecture of objects
is an accidental mess
of film canisters,
resumes,
sketches of the legacy tattoo,
red yarn
affixed to pushpins,
charred metallic debris,
pomade,
bits of fur
*
How when the treehouse fell out
of the nook in the low-slung branch
you teetered on leaving the children
to fend for themselves,
but didn't
for pragmatism
and whatever'd gone on before.
