ceiling w/o

hand me the box cutter.
there is a delivery from demons
seething on the porch & i'd like
to let it breathe. yesterday, all the lights
turned into raccoons & ravaged our trash.
i wish i was them: eating coffee grounds & banana peels.
fill my hands with all indulgences again. online i order
a god & he comes in a shiny urn. 
we sit & wait for rapture. it never comes.
instead our bodies float like dead balloons. 
last night i believed i could dig a hole 
in the ceiling with my bare hands. i could not.