Knife Thrower’s Assistant
He scored the world record, outlining
my tiny body with eight steel hatchets
thrown in thirty seconds. But it's not
the scariest thing I've done. Miles away,
I watch our show's spotlight cut a wide
swath in the black sky, while gold birds
bang my ribs. My doodles fast strokes
with a thick pen, my lunch raw fish.
I love the clouds' rush to mask the sun,
just before a storm. Take my picture,
quick, buy us shots of coconut rum.
Show me your bullet collection, and
I'll tell you about Pompeii, whole people
in seconds gone to ash. I stay up late
till I'm at sleep's edge, then dive in bed
like a jumper from a bridge. In both
pockets, scratch-offs. Tickets from
the dog races Friday night. I don't believe
in God, I confess. But I got married last
May, my hair strung with violets. Never
had my body been so tender, as I swept
down the long blank dress.