cork forest

where do you go to find a stop?
i used to walk down a spiral stair
into the bottled world.
everything was blue glass 
& bound. a wine cellar is born
out of the gossip of skulls.
i discover one in the basement
of my apartment. walls & walls
where coiled inside purple 
laughs to death. i have searched
for more ways to live internally.
bought curtains for my eyes
& a key i long swallowed.
watch as the men make thumbs
of trees. breaking free their dresses.
i too was once a raw material. 
took my shoes off to pick
wild from a snaking vine. 
the lesion is more than just 
a street or a number of months.
it streches wide as i know you.
there is enough befores 
to fill me. disrobing for
the axe. a pile of ankles.
what could it mean to live 
as the barrier? to make the barrier?
the trees tell stories 
of what happens after the fourth year.
how instead a fruit can turn
into a bird's egg & then back
into a fruit. for me,
i am looking for more items
i could choke on. bolder & billard.
screaming into a plastic bag 
& letting it go 
as if it were a lantern. 

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