making butter from the wind,
we stand in the forest of mills.
i want to be the electricity
that comes from dead ancient.
i put a light bulb to your tongue
& it glows enough to last the night.
i am always just trying to reach
the next morning.
a fire made of lizard tails
lives beneath the house.
we will sonn have to be renewable
or, in other words, some of us
will live in the treadmill garden.
some of us will hold a microphone
to the sun. i am trying to become
a city all by myself. open my mouth
& make a tunnel. transit with
carnations. a spearmint bush growing
out of control. there are
more than enough highways.
i make one into a belt. crossing
bridges between eyes. i have
a lighter for the kindling.
i have a bowl to catch the baby.
melons that started as caught breaths.
all i want is to live without
fear of the next. next sugar.
next house. next night. next bed.
the birds no longer migrate because
of the huge turbines. if they did
they would be sliced into
smaller & smaller creatures.
field mice say a prayer.
a cat licks her paws clean
of all decision. we drill a hole
in the backyard looking for water
or oil, either will do. we find neither.
just bones of another planet.
use them to build a generator.
anything can be diminished
to a brief flash of light. in the oven
perches an alarm clock.
i pluck a turbine to find
it's just a pinwheel. we are
going to be so hungry by the time
the moon is ripe again.
learning to feast on rain or
wild onions. the outlets are talking.
i shove a plug in each
to shut them up.