time uncurls in clicking

disfigurements, sand
smoothes soul-bound 
burs whilst wriggling 
calluses coarsely unnerve
and disturb some pea-
small matryoshka scabbed into haggis—
the cardiograph’s cracked slipstream chases
a jostling comet tail clawing its way toward what,
while the twee little girl in me struts still
over the quipus and sheepshanks, wind-raked,
scraping the wharf for a mumbling wunderkind,
hoping to learn how to hogtie her shoes again—
shins unsplinted and splinters relenting, the
water-logged splinters swelling back into but
blackstrap cedars of dream and everything
rain-rattled matchsticks scratch about, tallying 
days in a book now bound and weighted with
what would be wetter or better than
dew-throbbed flowers, louring
glowers that old cracked mary’d fancied
finer than twine, and the fishing
line missives of cans constrained, still
sorting some chortling voice amongst
poignant noise and the tattoo of coffee 
stains straining, impatient as penitent
stars cinch, hissing and clenching, pitched
as a needle descending to root around what
stubbed stump of a limb—