when i was younger i used to think a sea monster ate the titanic 

this 3D printer makes ice bergs.
i'm walking on a wall of water
call me jesus's sister
a parting of ice.
a drifting under finger nails.
i'm prying finger nails off like
icicles in search of the bergs. 
yes, now spell
ICICLE & let the bicycle 
go off the side of the dock.
a pedaling towards 
the ice berg.
steering done by the big wooden wheel
not connected to any steering.
model sail ship crumpling 
into a knot of hair. 
a little boy asking a dad 
if he can wear the captain's hat.
they frame menus of the titanic.
the 3rd class ate ice &
then drank water & water
& water while the ship
bit the neck of an ice berg.
the printer runs out of ink 
& resorts to using water--
each sentence wilting
the paper. the bicycle hit
the lamp post & turns 
into a sea monster. 
police are called & 
they shine their flash lights 
in it's eyes-- black & glossed 
over by the hoods of old vehicles
still driving underwater.
i see ice bergs everywhere
ever since i was little--
a tall thin one is waiting
behind the lamp post-- there's
another in the closet & i keep
a lighter ready to melt it.
the printer is sending off
more ice bergs & calling
them sons. the sons are cold
& tired & need someone
to run into them. they crave
collision. in the morning
after fucking i like
to make the ice bergs 
grilled ham & cheese sandwiches.
the ice bergs are so grateful
& they tell me that jesus 
has a great sister.
i shower in hot sauce.
i rub cayenne under my eyes 
to keep me awake as the machine
makes more ice bergs
& sends them to circle my mattress.
my mattress lays on the floor
because the frame as suspect
of being an ice berg 
so i threw it in the alley
& called it a liar. it was really
a sea monster. it might have
been friendly but who knows. 
i love ice bergs, in fact 
i need them. without a good
strong ice berg 
to find what is a girl-boy
supposed to hide from--
supposed to hunt. i take apart
my old blue bicycle &
toss the pieces into the street,
letting them roll. i crack
the ice cube tray over 
my forehead & listen 
to the cubes sizzle & pop
as they touch my ready skin.
there is a one on the horizon
& we should steer away.
the cars park 
on the bed rooms windows.
the bed room has no windows,
just a door crowded with
massive blue bodies,
each scrambling for a place
to spend the night.