Day of Moves

It is a
day of moves.

The moves go here
and here.

The ventriloquists are appertaining caribou
in the reliquary

reinstating the throb
of your lovely temples.

I’m stuck in the pretzel’s shadow
with ears that do not pop.

But oh the melting KitKat
on your lips.

However this becomes
the dawdling of pillows

you must impale my frightened wrist,
to crown your badass backpack

where your sweat stains
are like warped vegetarians

whistling photophobias
in tourniquet yellow.

Stuck in a perfect forest
without sleep

I reach for the flaming animal
around your galactic neck.