putting on the burning building

sometimes the suite 
is the place you go to die.
i watch a hallway become halfway 
to the old church's cellar. 
a priest is trying to kill a bat
in the sacristy. i am the bat.
i get ads on facebook that say,
"were you abused by the boy scouts?"
the boy scouts came into by bedroom
through the window for a badge.
i used to crawl into graves 
at the graveyard & ask a friend,
"can you make arrangements?"
in the mail. a secret admirer 
sends me a card that says, "die flower."
he didn't say flower. i shouldn't
assume the gender of all antagonists 
is "he/him." when did a pronoun
become a piece of furnature. 
the english language  kicks itself
in the shin. i buy swimming goggles
with no intention of entering a pool.
you never know though when
you might be presented with
an opportunity to swim with whales.
i wonder if the whales know
about 9/11. maybe they do & think,
"i am glad we don't have buildings"
or "what a way to write a story."
sympathy enters my blood stream
through a bend straw. i call
an old neighbor to make sure
he's still alive. he is & does not
remember a thing about me.
you can put out a burning life with someone
but if you don't keep sharing 
granola soon you will just be 
marbles to one another. the suite 
is made of brick. the ants in my house 
own their dirt more than me.
i have an impulse to destory things
& say, "look now no one can have it."
banishing spell on myself. the flames
in the closet. it's time to ignore them. 

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