tiny tractor

i buy a tractor the size
of my thumb. plow the ceiling
until it is green. there are fields
where the foxes two-leg walk
toward a great humming melon.
we let the place sing. the past is 
a sweet playground where
everyone is sick. the food is doll house.
never enough. marrow sucked
from a little femur. the cows 
the size of mice. before i moved out
i lived alone. grew corn & soy beans
& squash. cut my head open
with the too-big knife. nectar
on the kitchen island. bees out the window
asked for postcards from wherever
i had gone. each plane was full
of chickens. i always get back here.
my body craves the miniature. i move
into the corner of a room. crouch
like a violet danger. the crops still break
through the soil. still speak their
ancient spider language. i name myself
over & over. first after the sound
of shifting soil then after 
the first firefly's light. my tiny tractor
harvests. it is not enough to feed me
or even the mice who sleep in the spoon drawer
but it is enough to make me think
i could get even smaller. buy a smaller tractor.
one the size of a sunflower seed. 
drive it until i am let loose. by who?
i do not know. i wish i could grow like 
the sugar melon. a moon within
a moon within a beast.