2 weeks notice

tell your god you will not eat the planet.
there are whales underneath my eyes.
i used to pull ribbons out of my mouth
for a room full of jenga blocks.
pulling free a foundation beam. 
soon the collapse will be beautiful
& all yours. i write my name on demolition sites.
i bring a box of chocolates 
to the protest. the protest has pickle jars 
full of specimens. we are all trying to 
give over evidence. "here is how the hours
have been used to mulberry me."
a tooth pick made of glass. 
the dentist in the glove box who says,
"you could do just another week."
hunger is a little town in the snow.
no lights on. just a grocery store 
in the dark. let's not pretend i was a saint.
instead, i was a body with blood in it.
i carried a pocket knife into the database 
or the hot water. do you have experience
wringing a bone of its milk? i do.
i learned exactly how hard to squeeze.
there is the gold. there is the doctor 
& the promises. none of this will ever
make you a cherry tree. you already are
a cherry tree. i am collecting pits.
i am going to find a payphone
& call the factory just to hear it breathe.