running w/o scissors 

i'm asking myself "how am i going to cut
the cord?" there's no point in velocity
if you aren't going to grip onto
something sharp. i used to put fireworks 
in my mouth & let my lover light them.
the forest was full of frog skeletons.
we ate poison berries. swallowed 
clouds like pastry. there is always 
the thing around your ankle. a string
or a strand of yarn. my mother used to
knit me pairs of eyes i could use
if i wanted to see a softer universe.
i have plushie dreams & plushie sadness.
the scissors are imperitive though.
you should always have an escape ready.
danger is measured in backyards 
& electric wires & random phone number
calling to ask if you have time to be 
a ferry tonight. i carry bodies to & from
my mouth. we arrive in a parking lot
& i root in my glove box. nothing sharp.
how do you look a man in the eyes 
& say, "will you please wait
fior me to be armed?" he doesn't wait.
he snips a strand of your hair 
& keeps it for himself. the trail 
is overgrown with wild berries & 
thorny bushes. there has got to be
a pair somewhere. inside, i run
with my bare hands. the day shaves me
down to the bone. the man says,
"it's just us." i think of the fireworks
& my lover & i can't remember
whose idea it was. mine or his. 
i do not kiss him. my mouth is
the scissors i don't have. outside
squirrels cut holes in the coming night.
my escape is not so seamless.