The Corduroy Mtn. Pattern Of Latent Insomnia Drew Kalbach We keep house just to have it. We keep the bottles just to fill with bile and missing bibles. The brittle mother's face stayed inches from the hard frozen ground ready to lick the frost from between the blades of grass. Her chin pestered ant hills and garbage men. We wanted to touch her with our mouths. The china snowmen and the porcelain cats roll down hills in shards and shatter against playground swing sets and safety vests. We were sentenced to resuscitation in public pools. The stickballs and cockthrobs were enough. Her stranger's hand formed a claw and groped at the cloth on an old woman's crotch. She wanted patterns of flowers and patterns of people in heat. The fencing was an excuse to thrust publicly through vending machines and condom wrappers and cheap little boy underwear. She wanted patterns of friendship but not real radiators burning off her feet. previous | next Added to The Corduroy Mtn. on January the Fifteenth in the year two thousand and nine.