wax houses / glass houses 

i have lived inside places that shrink.
the sun wraps a fist around the door
& crushes it into throat choke. 
which is another way of saying
i have had landlords & i have had boyfriends 
& i have slept inside blue candy wax bottles. 
there was that summer of the sepia car
& the heat that ate all the alley cats. 
i want to live somewhere that doesn't
give me up to the authorities. 
we board up our windows & put "x"s
on the doors just like the demolition house 
off wyandotte street. when i see broken places
i think, "i bet i could sleep there
if i needed to." i am a squatter at heart. 
a perch seeker. once, an ex showed up
on my front porch with a boa constrictor 
in his arms. he was pretending the snake 
was me & he cooed, "yes, just like that."
i don't call the cops on people so i had
no one to call. he could see me inside
like a little terrarium turtle. the next day 
i painted the glass black. needless to say, it chipped off
& then i was just as visible as before.
only this time there were spectators. onlookers
who came & said, "wow. wow. wow."
they spoke in lower case. i looked on zillow
to see if there was a remote house
in the wilderness that i could afford 
if i sold some of my less useful organs. 
i stand on the roof & wave at a plane
like i'm stranded in the middle of nowhere.
they keep flying. they are also made of glass.
the pilot is having an affair which is
mundane. he talks to her on the phone.
drops me a care package before he goes
with chocolate bar & a camera.
i take pictures of the clouds.