scraps of song cycling

it’s the knowing not the going
that will bring your body home
we open the third build day
with a few rounds of this song
whose notes go deliciously low
on the teach your bones how to rest last line

i hold the drill hard
(only power tool used on site)
against left hip because of
how it (with this boring bit) can kick
how it will
snap wrists

nina and i chiseling out mortices
side by side
scraps of song circle music cycling
through our lungs/hums/breath

cynthia and i post-lunch sprawled
in the orchard sipping our respective
beverages (her: tea, me: water)
where pomeranians and marshmellows
are discussed and i say
i can’t believe i (we) ever do this
(ever go into life/go through relationships)
without a guide

secret snack emory excitedly announces
to all those chiseling, malleting, sawing
in the beamery

how we howl/call/cheer out
wooh! wooh! wooh! wooh!
with each sledgehammer-meets-pole/beam stroke
pounding posts/beams/supports together

of the bar in the town she stopped in
corinne shares the flavor of the
local establishment by revealing
the gender indicators on the bathroom doors
(chicks and dicks)
i just peed in the parking lot she says

those are some of my undergrads’ favorite colors/
palette to use corinne says of the  post-sunset
purplegrays and magentas
that fill in the sky around us
can’t blame them i say

the death dance i say describing
best i can what it sounds like
in the moments after a mouse’s neck is snapped
in a trap and before the small creature
actually dies

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