soap dinner

coffee table planet
in the mirage of a great apartment.
all i want is chewing
myself pristine. bubbles
in the arctic circle
& a sail boat made of exhaust.
writing "faggot" in the dirt
of my car hood, a passerby thought
"embelm" & "that will show him."
everything about me is a secret.
some parts even to myself
& then i'm surprised like 
"did i really do that?"
for soap, i prefer as green as they come.
my father was an irish spring.
i wonder if he washes his feet
or if he just stands there
watering as if he were a fern.
i take a wand & blow bubbles
to chase around the dining room.
the neighbors deserve my sound.
we don't want to know each other 
at all anymore. soap dishes to sleep in 
when the night is already cold.
oh well. oh well. washing
the car is futile instead 
i kneel in the tub. lather
to the bone. glisten. 
i'm the skull of a dead ox.
i'm the rib cage of a whale.
blue smelling wheels turn. this is
what i crave. feasting on my clean. 
nothing has ever been so butter. 
was just compost in a boy's mouth. 
handful of egg shells. don't you see
how i need this. motions 
of circles & orbits. scrubbing
a cycle from hand until
they're just rear view mirrors.

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