man with scissors 

he says, "i'll cut the pear in half"
& he's talking about my head.
where do you carry your softness 
so that it doesn't go trampoline?
i hold my breath in the grocery store. i hold
my breath. i punch a hole through
a wall in the hope that there's honey inside.
there's not. or at least there hasn't been
for a long time. just pictures of fires.
black & white pictures. they could be
just very nice silk
i try to burry each finger on a different planet
so that wherever i end up evacuating to
i will have a memory of touch
that i can return to. berry tree. berry blood.
the astronauts feast & them i am just
a boiling without any hands. will you take me
away from my self? i need a little break
from skin. i just want to be the fur.
the nice fur of all the woodchucks 
who live by the side of the river.
if i were a toad, i would try to be
the biggest one there ever was. the thing
about men & scissors is they will always
find something you can lose
& they will convince you that you
are alright without it. i crave the pears.
their pale sugar. their bruisy faces.
do you want a piece of me? i do as well.
one bite in the cool dark 
of a morning. perched on a rock
by the stream. the man has never once
even severed a lock of hair from himself. 
the television sends a warning
that i do not bother heeding. 
plum juice is gone anyway. we'll need
to live off comets soon. please tell me
there will be pear trees there.
it does not need to be true. i have 
my own pair of scissors 
if i need to use them.