traveling salesman

i want him to knock on my door
& sell me the big purchase.
a basket of wooden parables.
tell me i am finally the fox 
& not the crow. grapes grow
from the ceiling. i say, "feed me"
to no one at all. do you ever feel
like god is making an example of you?
yesterday i was sold a package 
golden biblical gloves. they turned out
to not be golden or holy. 
i'm still wearing them. stylish at least.
it's not worth trying not to be scammed.
instead, i lean into the spending.
a man with a top had full of mice.
he knocks on my bed room door.
says, "i have just what you need
to forget." i buy all his glass eyes
& a remote control to a dead tv somewhere.
i crave the uselessness of window objects.
the unplugged lamp. the neighbor children
who laugh like they aren't just
figments of my imagination. i don't have
a roof. i just have a simulated forehead.
i'm getting carried away now
& saying too much. what i mean is
if not for him then how would i know
what it is i'm missing. he says,
"slide flute" & "electric blanket."
i thank him & pay him in quarters.
there's nothing left of the backdoor
just the bell. i wear it around my neck.
each year i believe less & less
in homes. that is just my body.
"would you like the last clarinet?"
he asks. how could i turn that down.
we all want to be chosen or at least
a little special. i cradle the clarinet
like a son. lay him down in a bed
of hay. he is back asking 
if i am still looking. i am. oh how
i am looking. we sit together
& wait for the instrument to fall asleep.
morning comes like frayed wires.
he tells me he doesn't meant to do this.
it is just all he knows. i tell him it is
the same with me. i pay him to sleep
while i walk a circle around
where used to be the make-believe house.