Become T-Rex with me and still feel small.

i'd like to invite you all today
to rolls up the bottoms of your jeans
and help me plant evergreens like tooth picks--
the ones with little neon hat-- the ones
my uncle handed to me from bar stools--
pull your thumbs through the trickles 
of stream to wipe off the dirt when you're done
and i'm sorry to tell you that 
you'll never fit anywhere again--
you'll break bird necks when you sit
and quash generations of a Jupiter beetles 
with your tailbone-- wipe them away with 
a field of wheat--
Oh! Darling you will feel so large and so small.
even though we are all feeling so large and so small--
and some of us build sky scrapers in an afternoon
and some of us untie a knot in a show string
only to hang them from a telephone wire
in execution.

my uncle used to tell me about having a 
dream that he was a T-Rex.
He said everyone made him stay outside 
the house because he was too big
to fit. He said that we were scared of
him-- that we wanted him to go away--
And I knew then that I had been a T-rex too.
I knew I had broken maple trees and power
lines and had my toe nails tangled in
white picket fences--
We have all been a T-rex and a Jupiter beetle--
eaten cheerios with the paddle of an life raft
and boiled eggs with a tooth pick.

we have been small enough
to be buried in a match box-- to sleep
in a hot dog bun-- rest easy with 
tulip ear rings-- ketchup on our knees-- 
we will point to the mountain that is
somehow always on the horizon 
and tell them that's where the 
T-rex is buried inside
a match box under the ridge.