lettuce resurrection 

i talk to the rabbit about which leaves
are best for weeping into. they chew holes
through the bottoms of our hearts.
we leak & fill a ship that was meant
to save us. i am so tired that when
i wake up there is a garden on the ceiling
& i just don't pick it. fruit, thick tomatoes 
& a portrait of my grandfather.
our relatives all die too soon. i remember
my grandmother's voice only in creaks
& the texture of her lipstick. in her bathroom
she had sea shell soap. 
once i stole one & kept the secret.
the rabbit are growing tentacles from
their faces. the lettuce is going to seed
which means it's going alien on us.
i forget often how to be a person &
i accidentally scare people by staring. i cannot
help that i arrived without batteries. 
i cannot help that there are no leaves left
so i have to dress myself like a carrot.
legs crossed. dirt born. i drive a car without
windshield wipers. i sleep in the lettuce.
soon it will be winter & green will go
into the back of my throat. you reach
for it sometimes & i gag. i think 
we have a future. i think i will live
as long as the goldfish allow me to. 
the older the get the more reaching i do.
i sympathize with the radio. it wants us
all to sit down. it has a lettuce patch
between its ribs. the rabbits come
but do not eat.