gargoyle farm

where did you plant your terror?
i walked until i found a field of snow.
used the hand shovel & dug. watched
my hands turn to stone & fall off.
became paperweights. the soul 
is a flag tied outside the door of the body.
waves in the violin air. when the gargoyles grow
i make it a point to look into their faces.
try to change rock. press thumbs 
into their eyes. grimaces & frowns.
i tell them, "we are happy in this life."
they do not budge. this is why the field
had to be so far away. i knew i would be
ashamed of what grew. i want to be
a spirit without any doubts. i crave 
community willing to go & tell the eels,
"we need a circus." i am hungry for
an ocean full of shoulders. whirlpools
we use to feed our hard candies. 
instead, i am here with the weight 
of all the rooves. drinking rainwater.
screaming into a wrenched-open pomegranate. 
somedays i believe everything 
is school bus flavor. we are not getting out.
i dress the gargoyles in knit hats 
to make them feel more whimsical. 
call a friend on my cell phone
& when they ask where i am, i am honest
for the first time. i say, "i am in my gargoyle garden."
they ask, "are there any dandelions?"
there are. little yellow promises.
i pick one & eat it. we talk about stomachs 
& what we want to fill ours with.
mice & songbirds & kitchens. 
i kiss each gargoyle goodbye before i leave.
tell them, sweetly, "i will miss you."
they say in response, "we will not miss you."