clone we took turns with the madwoman attic & sewed birds together to make angels. i have nothing but the process of cell divison. god's pocket knife he used to section & core us like apples. one self with her face made of mirrors & another who walks in sneakers all through the night. i want to know how many of myself i can keep. bird cages for my hands. feeding them fish food & gold shavings. delicate balance between myself & a certain version. admitting to a friend i sometimes see men who aren't there. some of them are clones & others are hat men. tall as the ceiling--their hats grazing light fixtures. once, a chandelier grew from both of our tongues. miniature guests gathered beneath. i am always inviting people into my body. it is compulsive. i meet someone & i think "i would make a good living room." the tv is on in the background. sitting the clone in front to occupy them. i used to think i would give a clone all the worst of my life to complete. instead, i find myself treating her/him as a child. i brush my clone's hair. bring bowls of cherries to their feet. tell them they are beautiful. don't we all want to hear we are a replica? nothing original to our suffering, just a new pair of shoes & a new parking lot & a new pair of glasses. i tell her she needs to clear out. there are inspectors coming to ensure i have remained whole. i stuff my clone in the hamper. tell her to breathe through her nose. she becomes briefly a ball of socks. the inspectors have teeth for eyes. one molar each socket. i tell them nothing at all. my body is a highway. coming & going. they do not find her. i lie & say "we are safe" even though she knows we are not & never. she crawls out on all fours. i stroke her head until i am just petting myself.