antennae farm

i touch the air to feel for predators.
people who were supposed to love me
have hurt me the most. i grow predictions 
on a shelf in my closet. anything can be 
an altar if you are in need. often spirits stand
on my head & remark, "you have died so many times?" 
i shoo them away like gnats. i don't want to be reminded 
of where my senses go when i lose control of them. 
hear a helicopter of mice above the city then goldfish
talking about graveyards. on the windowsill 
a necklace of ants marches like a seam. my body taught me 
to be terrified of the world's breath. 

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