again, i plant my eyes 
in a clay flower pot.
he asks me,
"what kind of fruit do you bear?"
from my ribs, watermelons.
on the right night, no fruit at all.
i am a crowd of asparagus.
wait for orchids.
all my daughters are ticks.
try to drink the blood 
of my knee caps.
then, a dandelion flock.
selling their dresses 
after only one wear.
baby birds fall from trees
like diamonds. i carry 
a can opener down into hell.
what will be exported 
from my mouth? 
a tooth, like a tail light.
my backyard full of glass.
the broken parasol.
girlfriends wading into lakes.
my ghost has a lighter,
walks out into a drying herd
of wheat. soon to be fire.
that is what i am. soon & sooner.
paring knives skittering
across the beach
on their toothpick legs.
did i say paring knives?
i meant plovers. i always get
those mixed up. what does it mean
to fed one another?
sometimes, i turn off the lights
just to look for another mouth
i haven't traced yet.
teaching me to swallow,
he placed a plum in between my teeth.
i dare myself to eat all 
the pits. where i die
a grove will sprout & fight 
for oxygen. a boy will sit
beneath me. eat more purple than he should.
stomach full of my fists.
fluttering with my anger 
& my exhaustion & my love.
each morning
he will open his mouth
& find a flower
on his tongue.

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