pendulum tell me where the hereafters live. i don't want a future in telephones. i want jaws & lips. i want to bite down through soil & hear all the trees swinging. you hold out your hand & i trace a trail through the thick wood. a path without a name that deer have followed for centuries down into the forests' stomachs. there, hearts grow like dandelions. shovel yellow & then so easily blown to eyelashes. that is where i go to dig for the question i haven't found yet. the one that might exist at the end of a tooth, swaying beneath "yes" & "no."