May This be a Test to Tarantula Tones and Fevers

I’ve sewn twenty-one stitches
around the lobster claw quilt
I’ve shoved twenty-one Corso’s
like needles – up my sleeve
I’ve grimaced at twenty-one fists
upturned at my stomach – silver
I’ve counted twenty-one toes
Upon the cobblestone countess
I’ve matched twenty-one lost woes
Trampling broken arches
I’ve felt twenty-one pierced nets
Around my arms and gallops

I lose twenty-one letters
Between the day and night
I bathe twenty-one tired faces
Inside of the hot coal tin
I give twenty-one cold comas
To children – pieced together and angled
I shiver twenty-one shakes
At the sight of tree-lined women
I fill twenty-one lakes
With thoughts and heart-strings - delivered
I end twenty-one poems
With a sense of beauty queens and geological gestures