Voicemail Poems

In front of the laundromat a cigarette grows out of stub and ash, smoke seeps from lungs back into sticky-dry tobacco, red hot cherry backs away from filter, reshapes as fire, jets back into bic lighter, gas condenses into fluid. Came back unsmoked to haunt our past selves down. Almost a room in the outskirts, we write each other out. Eyes like wildness, your torso tree trunk, we careless pass a bottle of warm stolen vodka. Sing songs of chipmunks, chase each other up plum trees, over roofs of cars, fluff each others tails before we scamper through the oaken night to bury acorns. Came back to teach us how to make our bodies out of muddy leaves, shape our faces from a pliant clay. Crop vineyard hair, cattail braids, let snakes grow as they may. Pluck river stone out of the water, become ourselves a river. Chisel cloven feet for gravel dancing. Came back to sing again I think, together. Seek each other out by scent, taste clove smoke. Dig up the acorns, and with o