That can really be leaned against
When you have about sixty extra pounds
Wrapping your midsection
And an unplanted garden of wet cardboard
Hearing curse words in foreign languages
Even when they are not there
Devouring some object
Made of bread
Shaped like something
Familiar
Rusted track
Off to the side
Replacements that could use a good beating
Or extras that will better service the apocalypse
Plastic fiberglass and nylon
Replacing nearly every texture
That could be needed
Now and forever
The idea to make things colorful
Or completely transparent
Is a gift left for the next eighty billion people
There is fire on the ground
Not now
But sometime in the past
Now the fire is just a pipe
Leading to a tension clamp
Waiting to be released
For god and all witnesses
Fire on the ground
Like in scripture magic shows and televised wrestling events
There are other places to live
But none so reductive
None so snake in a bag
As this
Come visit and disappear
Read a book that lives here
Eat a mouse
Sever all connections
That make you feel twitchy
The twitch that exists here
Gets spread out like apple butter
Always shared and butter knifed
Over the top
With the resonance of chipped iron bells
The clarity of snails and vodka
--
3.18.10
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