cortisol

the immune system water park.
the dinosaurs were animatronic 
all along & i was feeding the ducks 
bread like you shouldn't. 
corrosion & cortisol both
sound like the names of flowers
when i repeat them, speaking
to the shower walls where my voice
can live as a dragon would in
steam & grotto. beneath the drain
is a basilisk & i feed him olives
through grates. he's patient. 
he reads magazines. 
he likes it when i sing even though
i leave a window open. i hate it.
it all sounds like the crinkling
of gift wrap: echoes alien & adrenaline.
the creature purrs almost 
like a cat. we're allergic. i close the door.
there's neighbors in the drywall.
they have a small baby whose
hand prints are muffled by 
the paint. what colors did we 
paint the living room? green
is the wall furthest from 
the couch, but what about orange?
there's orange in me now 
that i can't get out-- a sleep 
sucking color. my bones i swear
are sugar or glass or somewhere
in between. the flowers dotting
the lawn-- fierce & flamingo.
they don't come up in the rain.
they don't come up when the grass
turns into a bag of kettle chips.
my father is salting the soil.
we won't try sunflowers again. 
they don't come up in april
& august but both & neither.
a bulb of tongues. acidic & beautiful.
i don't pick them when they arrive 
as they always do. when i was little 
& naive we would get the vase ready.
the acid, leaving burns
on my face & hands. their sweet smell
singeing the ends of my hair. 
this is why i have short hair
or did i pull it all out? i can't remember.
it is best to leave vases around
the house. respect the flowers.
oh cortisol a kind of kiss
& the power line is down & 
throbbing in the street. the hiss
of the basilisk. treat him kindly.
bring flowers, preferably
white clovers. something innocent.
a plate of potato chips.