power wash

we bought a ray gun 
from a fox at the the edge 
of the forest. he had 
a space ship in his blood
& a phone booth heart.
when was the las time
you called for help?
desperate as a rung bell
i shouted at a star. it winked
& then turned into a gnat
to escape. the side of our house
that doesn't get sun
is a biome of algae & moss.
i go there to talk to
the smallest creatures. water bears
& the seeds of future snakes.
they say, "the world is on fire."
i whisper & reply,
"sometimes i feel like it is
my fault." weeks later a man comes
to power wash the side of the house.
i plug my ears but i still hear
all the creatures asking for me
to come & help. what is clean
is clean & there's nothing else
we can do about that. everything stripped 
down to the bone. i once had a whole
shiny skeleton year. everywhere 
people tried to sell me flesh.
the ray gun doesn't work but still
i practice shooting at the dead tree 
behind the house. the fox was a liar.
he promised this would 
fix everything. why isn't there ever
a trigger that will fix everything?
i go outside to admire the work
of the power washer. the house gleams.
whitened teeth. a dislocated thumb.
i pray to the same ghosts i did yesterday.
i try to remove "help" from my vocabulary.
instead, now, i say, "sacrifice"
& "artifice." there is an altar here
where only worms can go. i crawl
on my stomach to get there. the fox
is in attendance too. he asks,
"how was your gun?"