gutter

get me the axe. get me
the green whistle. in the new house
gutter clogs with leaves in the storm.
waterfall in the bathroom 
& i came on the phone with god
who is saying, "you asked
for a piece of licorice."
do you ever brace yourself 
when you ask a simple question.
sitting at the table. my feet don't touch
the ground. you can decide 
whether or not you remember.
i do not remember. i do not remember anything
just the scent of spearmint 
behind the house where the rusted nails
proliferate. a man came & removed
heaps of gunk & heavy brown leaves.
water flowing. standing in the shower
thinking, i could be standing outside.
i do not miss you like i hoped i would.
instead, i think of you like a hunk
of leaves. again & again you cease the water.
i am bare & cold & it takes me
too long to realize i've turned off
the water. the walls are still damp.
what kind of playhouse is this?
i feel like everyone is watching
& they know exactly what i've gained
& lost which is news to me 
because i am still unsure. i lay in bed
like a bagel. the hole, something to orbit
or else an entry point. the rain stop
& in the morning everything is made
of violin string. a snake
on the sidewalk speaks in
the old language to say,
"the river is full."