spa night

i want to deserve the prophecy.
god is tall & thin & standing
in the corn fields just before harvest.
all the while i am laying in a bath of broth 
& blood. let's not pretend 
i am a saint. instead, i am a carrier.
i fill my car with teeth & drive
to whatever mouth is full of song birds.
when i say i want you to love me
i mean i want to sometimes be pandora.
to open my mouth & let the destruction
of the universe fall out & have you still 
want to take me to mcdonalds
for a sundae. i put on a face mask
of crush stink bugs. i wear my robe.
you are throwing darts at a board hung
around my neck & saying,
"why do you never stand still?"
i stand still & you ask,
"why are you always standing still?"
my bath bomb heart is not deployed.
i don't want to be a desolation ever again.
let's instead try to talk about wildlife.
about sharks & gills. about dead skin.
i remember when you used to treat me
like a lobster. hold me under the water
& say, "the meal is tomorrow,
for today let us be lovers."
red as a red can be. i prefer not to believe
in an afterlife. instead i believe
in friday nights. in ear hair & a capacity
for transformation. you ask me,
"do you think my hair is falling out?"
i do not. it looks as lush as ever.
there is a whole rainforest on your head.
i rub my scalp. tell myself 
one day, if all goes well, i will 
plant a yew tree here. i will tell no one.
i will sit beneath the tree & weep.