touch screen

we got trapping angels to use their teeth.
they're sharp & rigid. i found a touch screen
at the far end of the forest where 
none of the birds go. there, i visit
to offer my eyelashes. when i was a girl
i used to think, "it is a better gamble to believe
in god than to not." i would notice his eyes
peering through my window at night.
i prayed like a watched pot. sometimes
when my father got home late my brother
& i would eat dry pasta on the kitchen floor. 
the screen was loud & urgent. demanded a taste
of our fingers. i gave it whatever it wanted.
it is always about balance. don't give too much.
don't give too little or you will wake up
with a mirror filled with birds. my face is fickle.
i go weeks without it. sometimes it only returns when
i arrive at the touch screen & it uses my eyes
to open. often my body feels like the colorful 
rock-climbing rocks on walls in those gyms 
for people who need their mountains contained.
i don't want anything new. i like my clothes 
with holes already in them. places for the screen
to touch me & make us real. did you ever 
consider that a story is not just a story
it is the receiving of it? thank you for 
writing this poem. i am not sure who else
would have understood what i meant when i said,
"don't give too much." the screen gets bigger
& i am worried that one day everyone will see it
& then they'll know what i've spent. what i've taken. 
the future is a good place to push an emergency.
i practice the moon. i turn god into a verb meaning,
"to give everything away."