intergalactic phone call regret

i cast the line out farther 
than a shoelace of light can reach.
i'm asking, "does your body ever feel
like a sand castle?" i take a shovel
& scoop water senselessly 
from the basement. give me 
a lizared heart. give me the gravity
of a trailing moon. the phone 
is covered in pins. the phone is
tangled in ivy. i ask a street lamp 
for help & it coils & says, "hello?
hello?" wrong phone calls. red planets
push everything to voicemail. 
celestial clouds like soap. 
i thought by now i would know better
not to spend all my money 
calling outlines in the night.
do you remember being 
unfettered? no, i do not at all.
i plug a space heater in.
put my feet infront of the glow.
wait for novas to respond with their
wine glass speaches. my thumb
around my own lips. how did i use
to speak so easily? my life
poured from between teeth.
still ringing, i walk out past
the mail boxes to get a better signal.
stars in murmmuration. the telephone wires
playing cats cradle without fingers.
no one has ever picked up 
but that does not mean
it will not be tonight. i light a candle
only i can see. blood making
race tracks toward a violent november.
the ringing ends. a creature
without an answering machine 
does not know they were wanted.
my voice becomes a glow worm
that i must put in a terrarium.
prepare for the death of. 
of course, there will be more.
pulling the sun from a compact
& standing by the morning-bruised window.
the telephone is not--
was not a telephone.