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Curtis Perdue & Philip Muller




When the land keeps you afloat and moving in such a way

That you sense your heart is outside you


When you realize you’re roofed on a giant creature

And the giant creature turns out to be your mother


Spinning the earth

At an incredible pace you can tell


By her singing

When the gas stations are full of stuffed alligators


And their absence of wetness is terrifying


When the museum’s center has a vantage point

Of all its awes


When the exhibits are made up of cuticles

And mustard seed


You are on your back


You are on your face and watching

Your wife get dressed


When you are a giant creature and it turns out you’ve erupted

Into a fleet of tuna


When memory is clothed in elevator music


In the mirror you can see her way back there


There is a scratching in my brain and it

Looks like carpet


I am a sky away from becoming a gorgeous

Breaking apart


When I have put together a puzzle of rain

And treble and boulder


When the piano is pushed over the cliff and you finally hear 

What it is to be open


And it sounds like trees

Making love on the roof of a train


When the forest sleepwalks into your arms

And nobody wakes up


Not even your friends’ babies


When the astronauts drag their canoes

Along the coast


The quiet they leave in the sand escapes

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