11/10

popsicle-mouthed 

we were newts under out
respective stones. the cool damp
of a flower's shoulder. humming birds
trying to learn to play electric guitar 
in time for winter. the dead deer
are visited at night be forest gods
to ensure the spirit rises.
above the swimming pool antlers collect 
& require a great broom to disperse them.
i made a farm in my closet. grain 
only for myself. holdingt a popsicle stick
out & waiting for sweetness to come.
once i had a neighbor who only ate sugar.
sat on the back porch with a bag
& a spoon. he soon was a butterfly &
then he was just a chrysalis. the desire
to revert. here is where i used to 
dig a coffin-hole. here is where i ate
cream from a stick. calling my mother
in the middle of the night 
to make sure she is alright.
no one holds their phones like babies anymore.
when the sun comes up i put on
a jacket to sheild myself 
from all the arrival. putting the day
back in its plastic wrapper
to save for later. i would like more time
but the heat is here & taking away 
all of our frozen. what's left 
of the ice caps is in our knee caps.
a polar bear clings to a popsicle stick.
three arctic foxes die in
a perfect circle. nature knows 
perfectly well how it wants to fall apart.
this is how i know i am unnatural
or dislodged from my natural.
i walk in circles for hours.
eat popsciles until my mouth is 
a polar openning. each tooth a trigger
or a tombstone. tongue,
a door mat for future amphibaians.

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