water park

i think if i ate the houses up the block
they would taste like sugar & fingernails.
i keep a fork & knife on me just in case
the opportunity presents itself.
the suburbs are contagious. i watch as
they eat the land. bite marks & all.
to be from here is to be hungry 
& never satisfied. i think it is best to 
not look at the bank account. best to pretend
there is a trap door beneath the house.
it's easier to tell myself there is a water park 
waiting for us to laugh in. it is dormant
or so i pretend. hiding in the earth. a kind of atlantis.
i am not good at asking for what i need
because i get better & better at shrinking
what i can survive on. i shrug & say
"i guess we don't have a mouth anymore."
when i am feeling rebellious instead of starving
i'll go to the lawns & tell them that they should
grow crabgrass. that they should burst
with poison ivy. that they should want more
than to live choked & smiling. when i lived
in the city i spread seeds & watched as
wild flowers grew around the collars 
of stop signs. dear god we are so close.
don't you hear it? there is something delicious 
& real. we saw the spring onions starting
to burst from the wet earth. each, a wild bell.
we saw an angel without any shoes standing on the roof.
i don't know how to admit how far gone i can get.
i'll find myself standing there in the water park
only there is blood instead of water.
a man without a face tells me, "go."
there is a slide & i must take it. i hold
my breath. sweating in the lamplight. 
the space heater full of moths. my hands 
cold as beef patties. i flex my fingers. the windows
ache with birds. i want so much i cannot have.