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Flying upside down feels real
as rugs. I learned
loom tricks and bagged lozenges
in longish rooms. Hand-hooked
sheepskin like a show-off rippling
sand on the floor. They
call that carpet.
We wove with jute and jaggy
mohair draped on tables so
they’d never touch the ground. I
programmed petals
and took trifles after hours. Rug race
I call red team. I found us apples flat
hot Coke with ginger Chinese
wives’ hack
won’t get sick this year. You think
we caught the textiles and techno
they left us this
California rustle.
We still liked it a lot and kept
asking for more mohair don’t go
we’re wrestling now. Machines
stand up
they’re mean they tell us to eat
all the while weaving rugs. You
kissed my head and wet socks
in the stylus lines
big bleary you
said tremendous effort trembled
our skins off. It fed us when we went
all in phase like a Chinese dragon
dance sometimes
we didn’t go to bed. I put my hands
in for research. I put my tongue in
for health and harmony
brings wealth
to the business. Then we all got sick
looked around for lozenges bagged
up wool and wires hired
replacements
jaywalked home. We didn’t miss
the rooms full of rugs. I may have
missed the tender seam. A
housewife hack
of the 17th-century. Find
a longish room clean sand
pour it to the floor and swirl
with a broom to add
accent, apples
for a rug as real as rules.