warehouse

we went to the warehouse to worship 
the keeping. the plastic breaths 
& the aisles of halos waiting to be delivered
to future martyrs. we find there is 
enough for everyone as long as 
you are not wild or hungry. the warehouse
is a dream of capture. of a harvest without harvest.
come & see how to ship out visions
of saints. packing peanuts & clear tape. 
repetition turned into a prayer.
come & let's pretend that there is
no outside. that we are here to live 
in fish bowls with iridescent pebbles.
sometimes we gather in the night
when the missionaries are not watching.
there we trade stories of the woods.
of dirt & sassafras trees. 
sometimes there will be a feral creature 
with fur & eloped eyes.
they are always detained quickly.
sometimes though we catch a fragment 
of their poetry.
once, one said, "you could be angry."
i sat with those words all night. i got up &
walked on all fours through the aisles,
pretending to be a beast.
bit open boxes & destroyed shipping labels.
i knew in the morning they would come
& tell me i was a threat to the process. 
that i was unraveling what has taken
so long to build. i did not care.
i could be angry & i was. 
there are no windows here.
i dream of cutting a peephole 
just so that i can drink one sip
of the cream heavy moon.