you ask me what animal i'd like to live as

i answer, "an animal without a god."
i have woken up with hooves & gills. i have
run into traffic like a deer trying to return.
sat on the telephone pole, talking
to angels that are not there. let my feathers 
turn into red cedars. my body,
the plot of earth where my parents
built us a house from ribs. did you know
how long it takes for a skeleton to surface
from the skin? we have little burials
in our yard & i have yet to see anything
but obsidian. the little underworlds i keep.
i have crawled into holes in the wall.
thrived in the damp under-tongue
of the house. i do not think any of these
ventures were born from desire.
you change as much as you need to 
in order to survive. this is why some of us
do not remember what species we're
supposed to be. yesterday i woke up
& was hunted by wolves. the next day
i was the wolves. i wept when 
i saw my face in a darkened dead television
on the side of the road. i'd like to be lonely.
i'd like to be a herded heart. i'd like to be
with you in the afterlife. i'd like strangers
to gather & stare at my guts 
like a beached sea monster, thinking,
"what on earth was that?" maybe what
i really mean is, "will you be my god?"
i ask that of you one night when
all we have are our knees. the little 
mockingbird that flies out of my mouth.
you kill her after asking her permission
to be devoured. she says,
"anything for this." she ends up
tasting like mulberries.