David Greenspan

 

 

All the Sweat Inside My Handshake


The sky is not falling
but it is growing teeth
and many wings and
the sky is now restless.
The sky runs wild
like a rollercoaster—
like cotton candy
spun fast around
my finger. The sky
grows large, it has
glutted itself now
on honeysuckle,
on whiskey warm
and frantic. The sky
is filled with small
wires and this neon
glow. Yes tonight
the sky is not the sky
at all, it is the largest
cavity in her mouth—
it is her dogteeth
rotten and laughing.

 

 

 

It Is My Birthday


I stitch a dead bird
onto each finger.
It is my birthday
and tonight I stitch
a dead bird onto
each shoulder blade.