how to wear a mask

sometimes i customer-service voice myself
through a whole day. all the little telephones
growing like daffodils. i talk for hours
just to realize i haven't told a single truth.
have you ever looked at your hands & seen 
fire hydrants? a ghost cracks his knuckles.
let's get down to business. first, i would 
dip my bones one by one in chocolate. the rich
& beautiful kind. i spare no expense in my mask.
it's got to have feathers & gold. it's got
to make everyone think you are not 
a burning staircase. sit outside & think of
stock photos. think of women without 
doorways or living rooms. when you get
right down it there is no rope to climb.
there is no microwave to talk to. just a series
of zippers. here is the seal. here is the selkie.
here is the dream in which we are both 
talking our tongue languages. they will love
the chocolate. they will say, "you are so purple."
delightful & delicious. a paper plate to sleep on.
we are afforded so little chaos. i want
a feast of all my fury. no more pilots.
tell the planes "you are geese now."
i am re-learning how to walk with a face. i am
promising too much of every animal i see.
"i will love you," i tell a rabbit. "i love you,"
i tell a drawer of spoons. i just want to 
say what i mean but i don't know 
what i mean anymore. there is the distance
always between the self & the mediation.
let's not be idealistic. there is not one mask
but a bouquet. my finest work. where the salamanders
go to feel warm & ready. if you ever want
to meet me, you must come at night.
i will be eating egg shells by the crock pot sun.