Vanessa Couto Johnson

reeling

Every time I close a window, you leave another open. The birds make it obvious, piling their
chirps into bows. Err and arrow. I can find quiver.

The heart and other organ meats are worthwhile. Anatomy hill or restaurant. Or both. Crossed
legs in the waiting area.

An online IQ test equates me with Da Vinci. My machines cannot fly. They begin to gather as words, validating the laugh of infinity.

My washing appliance has dissolved into theory. Trouble draining. I could stretch my clothes.
Calculate an elasticity of sling shirt. Backyard lines we pin. The wind is full today.

The ocean is filled with lungs. Holes to a surface. Gas giants take their turn. Polite.

I hope you have enough bacteria. My system is literate, using colons and periods. Educate your
tendons and pretend music if you have to. Drum nails with bare arms, your wrist a streamlined,
trim mid-point.