the biological basis of sex 

my telephone wire bra straps
made me listen to phone calls.
the neighbors want to order pizza 
from a planet nearby & my mother 
is dialing & no one is picking up.
i have an eavesdropping rib
i cannot help it. what i mean is
i'm female (in the way that everyone 
with any curiosity is female). 
in the wires everyone's voices
turn to mice. 
there might be mice in the walls
or it is only my imagination.
or it is another monster.
the walls are full of other kinds of wires.
blue wires & red wires & black wires:
electic roller-skating through them.
i want to be atomic in my next life.
i want to over hear something 
fantastic like a conversation 
between god & his favorite angel.
he runs his fingers through 
the angel's hair & his locks
make the sounds of golden bells.
if i ever get around to shaving off my hair
i will make the most wonderful instrument of it.
if i took my brother's violin bow 
& drew it across my bra straps
would i sing like i used to?
the tongue is a useful organ 
& the teeth are best slavaged 
for future piano keys. 
another phone call plays in my chest:
strangers who want to meet 
for the first time. i want to interject
& tell them to meet in a bright parking lot.
somewhere unromantic to see if the spark lasts.
i've fallen in love with light bulb filaments
& put my mouth to the edge of outlets.
there are animals just beyond grasp.
i don't make many phone calls anymore.
when i do they're to the egg shells i came from.
i make a grateful voice
& hum my life story into the reciever.
the telephone wires do nothing you know?
no one tethers their language anymore.
we're talking our pathways through galaxies.
we're raking our teeth
across the surface or the moon. 
the wires are full of dust. my bra clasps
are made of rats' teeth. 
i'm organic the last time i checked 
but i have been ignoring the signs
that say otherwise.