the last taxi to the museum of modern elegies 

i buy a mourning dove & feed her lemon drops
until she glows. in the television i used to see
fields of lights. we do not make it to where
we thought we'd be going. i opened college letters.
small bad. big good. what did i want? what will
i want when the big statues of girls get flesh
in the afternoon. we are at the city place
with all the windows & i am stuck trying 
to be human with you. both of us sleep in bunk
beds without a way out. you tell me a story
of a chicken with an iphone & i explain that
i am just trying to find a way home. not everyone
has eaten with a fork but everyone has eaten
with their hands. the stop signs cease to work.
the forest keeps more secrets. i buy a subscription
to a lover. she sleeps in the box she came in. 
i try to coax the train out from her slumber but
it is no use. we will have to take a cab. i haven't
taken a taxi since i was in high school & the city
had too many hands. i could have stayed
forever. lived off of strange horns. the driver
has a picture of his child on the dashboard.
she is feathered. another mourning dove. i offer him
a lemon drop & he puts up his hand. explains
that he still needs more time. i understand that.
it is all our nature to put off whatever big inevitable
is coming. god or a package or a mouth. 
the driver moves wild. we climb a sky scraper. 
we listen to barreling music. at one point
he closes his eyes & the street gets smooth 
& right. the trick is we never get there. a big
long avenue with flags from all the broken places 
which is to say every nation to ever exist. 
the street scrolls. takes us back to the beginning. 
the museum just out of reach. full of something
we want to weep about but can't.
is it the hormones or all the time? the boy 
at a counter drinking coffee. the taxi, small now.
the size of an ice cube, shrinking.