Fool Me Once
 
i lap at the moon like a deer does a saltlick
because to taste is to believe and i’ve got a glimpse
of the future etched out in headlights. wait.
i’m confusing the road for the way. the weight
the moon pulls, the moon pulls. it’s yellow-bricked,
the road. no, nothing but lines. look up. i’ve come face
to face with that salvation type light, but it turned left.
went right around me and there i was stark
and open like a bare-boned billboard hanging in night.
give way to gravity, to movement. walk along.
there’s nothing to see here. nothing to see. advice:
season to taste. rub face against chain-link fence,
strike sticks against cement, toss stones.
no damage done until the match is lit. wait.
i’m confusing the light for the light. but i taste
salt, so i must be getting closer to the meaning of burn,
of crumb. hit me, i dare you. i’m lapping it up.


Laurin DeChae