anything could be cake

i am an increasingly distrusting person.
sometimes i will pick up my face from the mirror
& find it made of buttercream. smear my lips.
i lick my fingers. the sweet rotten mess.
i have grabbed doorknobs & found them
to be jelly donuts. i have fallen into angel food cake beds.
i know this is just because i am hungry
in the endless way. like how the stick men 
wander in search of a throat. i weep when
i find another lover made of sugar. it starts to rain
& i scramble. i try to find a tupperware big enough
to house my needs. by the time i do
they are gutter honey. i carry a fork & knife.
the knife is sharp & accidentally cuts holes
in the meadow. all the bees pouring
from my bedroom wall. if i could feed them enough.
if i could keep them then maybe we could
live off singing. i want to be the kind of person
who walks through a graveyard & doesn't wander
what stones are edible & which ones belong
to terrible people & which ones receive teeth
& which ones receive chocolate. it is so important
to feed the dead or else they come back like this.
like our ravenous nights. the hunting knee.
the arrow bush. a coyote screams like a woman.
i go out to help her. she is a cupcake platter.
each one with a little wasp inside. if i could be sure
that tonight everyone would be real 
i would go out. i would maybe even dance.
but i cannot even promise that of myself. 
i would love to meet someone who once was real.
to touch their hands. would they feel like marzipan 
or just like a soft furrow. moss & meat.