Rug Race


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.


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