backdrop knitting a tornado into field. we told the horizon to have more shoulders. sometimes i forget there is a sky. airplanes aren't real. or, at least, not anymore. instead they are the memories of the distance we could not bear. what can we make to fill the empty out there? i used to think i could walk far enough to escape the sound of the tea pot but now i know they blossom everywhere. a telephone rings & no one has telephones anymore. once, my father opened the window & throw a handful of bottle caps at the moon. they stuck in her face. the moon is my face one nights like that. a man landed on my & stuck a flag in my eye. this was not a love story. though many people think love is about laying claim & being claimed. i want to be less landable. i want people to circle my mountains on a map & say, "we have to be careful when we pass over here." i spit a storm the color of bruises. the smell of copper. blood of the rivers. when was the last time you bathed in a curtain? took the light & threaded ribbon through each dart. a spotlight falls & becomes just a dead bird. who wouldn't want to be a sacrificed language? no one but the foxes are watching. they have a hole cut in the clothe for going between here & the other side.