sometimes all i can do is open.
we look up at your ceiling as it turns
to snow. up the road is a field of dead tires.
rats live sequestered in their rubber.
a leg becomes a downhill story.
out-running a whole night, we laughed wild
in the long long daylight.
i want a birth control strong enough
to keep gravity working for me. i bloom
less like an orchid & more like popcorn.
there is a machine for that. there is
a doctor who knows just what to do even with
bodies like mine. i walk all the way
to the ocean just to find it dry. i tell
my lover we are not dying, we are just maybe
in the process of becoming a new species.
i'm hoping for scales if not feathers.
ow there is a bag of popcorn holding a ballet
in the microwave. each one of my heads
will soon be busted open. petals in the oven.
kernels where my eyes used to lay
like two purple beets. i trust nothing
about the coming autumn. there will be
corn husks & dresses made of silt.
letting the river go cold. when a seed
is past due there is nothing else
that can be done-- it must be given back over
to the gods of the harvest. i do not know
how to grow anything but tomatos. i've decided
that's good enough though. i can live
round & red if i have to. wash my hair
in the heat of an old star. take my shoes off
& go to put them back on just to find them
full of stale popcorn.