blood born

get out the butter, i'm ready.
give me the syringe full of spiders.
i can survive any kind
of kiss. even ones with chains.
we drove for hours until 
our lives were fingernail clippings.
the moon was a vanilla wafer
which i ate while you weren't looking.
there is something in my blood
about escape. my grandfather moving
from ecuador to brazil to philadelphia.
all the gasoline in his red. 
eating a chicken from the sun.
there is a church in my lungs
& it's always burning incense.
i do not want to be blessed or holy.
i want to have a painting of mary
on my wall. i want a halo to teeth with.
if you looked at my blood under
a microscope you would see 
all kinds of moths & whales.
they would have goat eyes &
big cartoonish frowns. it starts with 
the zipline. it starts with the kissing
on the bridge. haven't you ever driven
somewhere you don't belong?
if you haven't then we aren't kin.
then we aren't even talking to each other.
a mulberry tree grows
under every bed i've ever tried
to sleep in. rubber ducks in the blood.
rubber tree bleeding milk. 
violet bruises. a tea cup with a little scab 
sitting at the bottom. let's tell the truth.
there was never a butter dish. there was
only a knife. you were just trying
to make me think it was duller than it was.