cheese pull

get out the camera i'm about
to be a memory. i have a mouthful
of the old wings. a helicopter
is taking pictures of our teeth
to sell in the weird place. 
the ai is not ai but a man inside
a box inside a box eating french fries 
without any ketchup. he wipes
the grease on his thigh. everything
is dry these days except when 
the climate coin decides it's time
to spill. it has been raining for days
but i still don't have a tongue.
i go looking for it under rocks. 
it slithers away. amphibial part of me.
i make all the promises i can't promise.
i tell the tongue, "we will go to
a real vacation in which i don't weep."
the tongue is right not to trust me.
i am not good at memories in general. 
the making of them or the keeping
of them. my partner will ask,
"what were you saying?" i'll reply,
"i don't know but it tasted orange."
if you eat enough citrus you can 
keep the sun from cooking you. if you
pull the cheese from the mozzarella stick
someone will get hungry & wild &
then they will be there too
jumping rope with the cheese. i am the 
little prize in the happy meal. 
i am the steel wool when the stain
is like a third skin. i come wrapped in
plastic. tear here. tear here. the tongue 
is stuck in the gutter. i fish it out.
i don't bother scolding it anymore.
instead we go into the kitchen
in search of salt.