i'm scheduling the hairs on my arms
to grow. weeds in my father's yard
ask the important questions like
"when are we going to burn the system
to the ground?" i tell the grass
this week i have to let the doctor
tell me not to worry about fingernails
& ginko trees. in a parallel world
i am revolutionary. my blood
is made of pewter & pledges. i rush out
into the street & free all the lamp posts.
here, in my real life,
i have less & less allegiances. right now
all i trust is the color grey
& the space between your breasts.
i will inevitably forget
but that is why metal birds exist.
i open my phone which is slowly
becoming a diety. my device plans out
the next hundred years without me.
date & time can get me through
most mornings. a calendar nailed
to a tree on walnut street.
the reminder says, "we require
your body." i think "good take it!"
when the day is over there will be
more tin foil hats to knit
with future children. there will be
a bed for us to make puppets in.
i will still need to find a place
to store the jars of noise stolen
from that one night we shouted
into the bare winter forest.
don't worry. i confirm the future
or is that just a knot in a balloon?
have you seen these new screens?
a mirror without the mirror
opens blossom-like. tomorrow
is a distance i measure in leaves.