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· Zachary Marion

Tapeworm

My eyes are closed and I've slammed the pedal to the floor.
I search for some sense of semblance,
Then we're falling,
Gliding in a sailboat across the sky,
Alleviated from any sense of responsibility,
Until we hit the ground.
To see the bottom of the basin,
Sometimes you have to drive a car off of a forty-foot cliff.
Crows are lining up on the power lines
Like fruit growing from a vine.
Saturday baseball game spectators,
Snap, crackle, pop
The electrified bodies of flies frizz on a bulb.
The barbed hair of a horse burns, and then it's gone,
Two ends of a power line cable snap loose and ecstatic sparks flair an

grily through our nostrils.
A tongue of electricity dances through our winding bodies,
Birds line the ground, rotting in an open casket of earth.
Ichopped down the crucifix, the spiked T-cross telephone pole, for

firewood.
Icarry the log and at the price of a few matches Ican give birth to our

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