we collected. held plastic between
thumb & finger. determined to build
disposal. aquariumed & swimming,
all the plastic in their paradise
to look at with hopscotch-eyes.
counting. where does the number go
once it's passed in its place.
a valley of sevens for the keeping.
breadclips are not recyclable
in the blue sense but yes in
the way that anything can be used
for inspiration if you put it
in a cage. darting plastic. winking
plastic. we visited the plastic
to ask our fortunes. i took
my dandelion skulls to the morgue
for an autopsy. death by thumb.
when the ocean is oil i'll go there
& make the evolved & ugly fish
how to breath fire precipices.
until then we have to ask containers.
the hallway. the shelf. the sink.
the pocket. hung a bread clip
on my earlob & started hearing
ancient plant-matter talking about
unionizing. i don't explain it's
a little too late, i just listen.
hearing used to be my antidote
but one day it just turned
stale & the crust peeled free
as feathers. there's enough rations
to last this flag pole or so they said.
we stole some & stuck them
in our back pockets where all secrets live.
traded colors. blue being rare.
blue being sacred. the sky having
long been replaced
with a late-night show set.
i keep a blue till this day.
no you can't see it.
when you share a color
a bit of the wave length is lost.
i need all i can get. we released
the breadclips in to their
natural habitat. a million.
a million. the mud river.
trees, who knows which are root
& which have long been
men in costumes with
sound recording devices?