frog skeleton

we live in a loose-lidded fish tank.
i want the sun to be less harsh.
the can opener is lost & so 
i suck on the surface trying
to pry the word "bean" from its shell.
the earth is older than anyone has counted.
if we put our provisions together 
we'll have enough to leave water again.
lately, i've been reminiscing about
when i used to have less cells.
we were organisms with our bodies
brushing up against each other.
nothing more queer than an organelle.
biology is just a long poem. 
the tweezers in the bathroom
are designated as blood tweezers.
glass wasn't invented
it was inevitable as an opposite
to flesh. i had to tweezer-pull
a bone from my heel. the frogs
we used to be keep me up at night
with all their breathing skin.
often when my skin breathes 
i have the desire 
to leap from the water &
die on the carpet. crawl under
the washing machine & dream 
myself a new species. who is going
to drop the fish feed in the pond?
frog's finger bones are thin 
& even longer than they seem.
they wrap three times around the earth.
clutch the core. i'm jumping rope
in my DNA. a cluster of eggs
in the sink are actually future eyes.
when you blink you are
opening & shutting the cabinet.
i want you to keep my skeleton
in a glass box. donate my soul
to science. here is proof
of sadness. proof we came
from water. the fish tank light
keep me company. my shadow cast
beneath me.