rpg &/or you're alive

i light a fire in the middle of the room
& the fire discusses local news. a map keeps
opening like a dead bird. i collect pushpins
like daughters. the water from the river
is not drink-able so it's just there for show.
one kind of kneeling. leg by leg.
i didn't mean to give myself the scar
it just asked for me. moon in the sauce pan.
night coming & going & taking all the coins with it.
i used to dream of other characters 
when given a full-length mirror. a boy 
the size of a palm. a girl bent on 
destroying every single bear in the woods.
old woman in need of nothing but thistle.
even the game grows wild. knitting a new skull 
& trying it on for size. plundering boots
from the side of a river. lately, i just see 
a gust of wind where my face was. lovely fresh
but not sturdy. all my clay has taken
insect legs & moved on to tell another story.
i don't play often anymore & when i do 
it's secluded. somewhere no one else knows
an ankle can deliver you. then, in my woods
i cut down trees with my hands. i over turn stones
in search of amethyst. choke on honey
straight from a golden well. all mirrors become 
graphics. all paths sewn closer. my teeth sing
as nestlings. i lay on my back & note 
a cycle of sky. the clouds regenerate.
start over start over. used to want
to make houses. start with skeleton 
& built to nonesense. my home, a few feet away 
laugh on fire. i feel it's warm breath 
from where i lay. 

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