string cheese

my brain is full of fingernails 
if you know what i mean.
i don't know what i mean
but i know it feels gill-less.
like breathing without lungs.
i pour my soul into a birthday balloon
& wait for it to deflate.
there is string cheese & then there is 
good string cheese braided 
like girl hair & twisted by monks
who only talk to waterfalls.
i am the kind of person
who can't peel slowly. who, on occasion 
has taken a bite out of the beautiful.
who has made a sacrifice 
of one of my own limbs.
watched the angels feast 
with their jaguar teeth. 
you know we could have 
as much cream as we want? we could
put a gumball machine
in our brains but instead
we're running around trying to kill bugs
with our bare hands. booby trap
for intruders catches me
& milks like teeth of their trapezes.
i'm not sure how the string cheese
comes about. i wonder if it comes
after days of praying & brushing hair.
i used to have a mane. i used to have
a field of dandelions. i used to eat
only grapes. now i am a pineapple listener.
i take sugar for a walk
down by the purple brush.
there, we sip from chipped tea cups.
we braid everything that will take a braid.
legs & leaves & levers. doors 
& darkness. kissing like pickles 
in a starlight jar. let's use all our salt.