antennae love poem

i swear i can hear the future's marmalade.
as a child, i loved to feed the ants.
first in the yard & then in the house
& then pieces of my body:
finger, hand, lung. their antennae twitched.
i tried to grow my own. 
attempted planting twigs 
into my skull. tried removing the television's.
instead, that just made me listen 
to policeman speak: everything about order
& meatloaf.  i had to shake it from my body.
i had to eat nothing but lemon custard 
to become a human again. 
then there was the problem of still
not being able to speak to the ants.
their order was not like the policeman's.
instead their order was like a quilt or like
the way a fern knows 
to grow fronds. i craved to hear
the color of a zephyr or the mother noise
of rising bread. to crawl on all six legs
& reach towards a queen's infinite shoulders. 
i still want to be an ant most days
as i did when i was a child. i was jealous then.
sometimes i killed ants out of that envy.
wiped their stories off
on my thigh. each a little punctuation.
period. period. period. come to the end
of my hunger. i have lawn chairs.
i have lemonade. the policemen are far away
writing a ticket for a wound in the sun. 
o how i love to be guilty & whole.
i buy a whole bag of sugar
& pour it out in the front yard & wait.