zipper i want to be undone one tooth at a time. there were pterodactyls in the yard so we yelled & made ourselves as large as we could to scare them off. sitting face to face on the train ride home from the city i nest my feet between yours. out the window the world is jurassic & then modern & then a valley of ashes. as a boy-girl i would bike to the fabric store between corn fields. select patterns from huge reams. marvel at pricey velvety blue & greens then find the wall of zippers. a museum of sideways grins. bought several & considered administering them to my body. how easy it would be to open my arm. thigh. chest. coming apart like skeletons departing from a train. the station scattering in all directions. car headlights. holding my hand & then me letting go. i keep getting older but it still feels strange to see your knuckles inside mine. a bear trap set for cretaceous. there are really not enough animals to go around. i find my DNA in the microscope. see the zipper that asked god to print me. slowly, i undo it. feel my self unfettering. single hairs floating away. skin flourishing like silk curtains. i didn't know what i needed until it was an implement. mouth open. grasped inbetween my thumb & forefinger. pulling open. exhale. history in evergreen shade. a handful of tongues. fossilized footprint. you walk away & take all your animal cells with you. my bottom jaw, now a butterfly wind. beats & beats until the memory is gone.