i've been having conversations with ambulances.

always hurried. never complete.
i told one tonight, i want to know
what it will take to make be feel whole.
i thought of the two words whole 
& hole. i took a pair of scissors
to slice a small hole in the side of a building.
i spy inside. i see a family of 
mice around a tiny table. they are sharing
a poptart & a discarded chicken bone.
ambulances are not for them. i imagine
a tiny ambulance that might carry them.
a higher pitched wailing. 
night is a sheet of construction paper
in a pile of blue. i don't find any benches
i can sit on. everything is dangerous these days
even the moon who runs with scissors.
i am careful with everything sharp, even sounds.
sometimes my speaking severs trees i pass
right down the middle. great firewood 
if i happened to have a fireplace.
there are no convenient places to burn lately.
every rooftop hides away from climbing
& the ambulances are out there screaming
all the red out of a day. there is only
so much color for any particular moment.
i try to talk to them. i try desperately.
i choose impossible company. when it's not ambulances
it's dead poets. i open their books
to random pages & try to conjure them
in full body aparitions. i'll take nothing less.
an ambulance told me just a few hours ago 
in their rushed & babbling way 
i want to eat a pile of spaghetti i want
to hold a fridge. you should never spend too long
waiting for anything. 
an argument against patience. i wanted to ask
what he meant or if there was a moment
that drew him to this conclusion.
i wait & wait & wait. i wait 
for sweet potatoes to roast. i wait 
for night to wrap me up with indigo.
i cook a box of spaghetti in case the ambulance
wants to talk again. we could sit at the table
& talk slower. i did not plug
the hole i left in the side of the building
where the mouse family eat a late dinner.
anything can become a diarama. 
i return to my own model home. all the trinkets.
my room with no window. the sound
of another ambulance shouting
i am running alone tonight.