quiet game

i love a cigar box to put my spare tongues in. 
shiny little sarcophagus. i should stop
letting this app track my location.
i want to reject nihilism & embrace a thing
with feathers. there is a zoo up the street 
from me & i wish the cages were bigger.
what a ridiculous dream? that's what everyone
has been saying to me though, "don't you want
a bigger cage?" no i do not. i want a meadow. 
there used to be horses at the zoo but last time i visited
only one was left. sometimes i feel like
a horse at the end of the world. i have never
been good at a quiet game. instead, i start
speaking all the cicada things i've been
told over the night. i make a blanket fort
& demand that the stars are popcorn.
the premise of the game is that whoever
can stay quiet the longest wins. what a terrible
lesson of silence. so many religions are predicated 
on waiting. a likely alibi for the void.
he has not come yet. he is not coming. he will
only come if we make him. i am sick of god
being "him." i think god is the sun or maybe
on occasion the rain. i want to lose 
every single quiet game. i have an attack 
full of tongues. i dust them off
to find new pitches to scream. let's not get
comfortable with canned mushrooms. let's not
forget that the soil is full of toes. on my 
favorite nights i wear all the tongues at once.
i lose over & over. we are driving home
from a fire in the fire world. a politician is starting
the game. i hear the sound being pulled 
from the whole city. i refuse. we drive the car
like a video game. we sing.