conduit of my animal. let's mammal
until we have enough blood. make loud pipe opera.
gator a family. o my calliope teeth. oil. soap.
they tell you not to say the word but
the word becomes a body prophecy. once, sun-bathing
now in the banana peel realm
with all the corporation rot. here, babies are still
in their boxes. muck. mirrors. memory sprouts
her antenna. radios croon into footprints.
you talked into the drain, conjuring me.
how could you know my terrors? you did not want me.
you wanted to speak & watch each word grow legs.