re-invention of the wheel 

i don't want to write about the horrible 
even if just for today. i think it is
going to snow again & we still don't have
a shovel. this year i began like actually
worshipping the fireplace. i started by
just feeding her rosemary & cedar but now
i'm feeding the fire grapes & eyelashes 
& coffee beans. next will be hair then 
my fingers one by one. a little ribbon of smoke
spills from the chimney & gives the sky
a fashion scarf. i have been watching videos
of people who explore half-abandoned malls.
all the store fronts are vacant but
the hallways still have lights on. still have
faint music playing. i hate all the ways 
i was taught about history. i remember watching
a cartoon of an ancient person getting inspiration
& making the wheel. instead, i know it was
a gift from the land spirits. or maybe it was
the delivery of a small round planet.
in a way, we are all the only son in a family
of avalanches. i told you i was not going
to write any horrible but it's always just
a breath away when you live in the land
of holographic honey & rationed milk. 
i have a syringe in the bathroom full of cows.
if i had to i could try to survive in the forest.
the fire is kind. last year she was furious.
this year she lights easily. comes into the house
like a wheel. like a rush. a chariot. a cart 
full of potatoes. last night i could not figure out
how to cook the rice even though i have done it 
hundreds of times before. it came out almost
like a pudding. i ate it anyway. took out
the big spoon. set aside a bite for the spirits.
i am trying to remind myself of how i am 
a pillar & not just an obelisk. the heads of 
all the girl-boys who cut wheels from stone.
who pushed our blood into the trees.
when i breathe i hear the rain.