icicle 

in the face of a bicycle spirit 
we waited in the grocer alley
with empty milk bottles & a knife.
the ceiling fan grew icicles 
& we watched as even those became teeth.
dear brother, how are we 
going to build a house from all this?
we tried to take make the home
safe for angels. wearing sunglasses
just in case they came & spit
their celestial light all over the walls.
once, we took a family portrait 
& there is a girl in it with five
extra eyes. the girl is me. she lives
beneath the sink & i come once a week
to give her another box
of raisins. you can live on nothing
but nostalgia. that is what we do afterall. 
opening the winter in a can. 
give me back my baby teeth. killing
fairies not out of necessity 
but out of anger. how dare they 
hoard bone? a television full
of mice in little costumes. posing
with the mannequin sister. doing her
makeup. brushing her hair. tell me,
will you help me pretend we are alive?
i used to invite the stray cats inside
to watch me burn pages of 
moth-smelling books. the icicles 
grow to the floor & become columns.
o colosseum. o air conditioning. 
let's not argue anymore.