David-Not-Dave

Through the pink lip,            the leap,            and supple unfunded fire            in the damp meadow               of us,        under the               cracked sky            scattered with scores               of telephone poles; through the magnetic resonance,        rattling bones like train tracks,                            train tracks,                            (reinterpret that), into mahogany eyes     from out of tar-spill pupils,     reciprocating,     reintegrating,     reinventing     the romantic meaning of the   true rib        (tethered directly to the breastbone), in the