overdraft fee

i get it, you own my throat. 
you have a little freezer where you keep
a bowl of my blood. feed it to 
the feral cats when the moon
is getting summer in her cheeks.
in a great cage
there are ghosts rattling jars of beetles.
in the vault, everyone is see-through.
i look through a gender until
it becomes a reverse portal. not a way out
but a way deeper into the circus. 
i have learned to breathe only a dime's worth
of air. i have talked to the sweet 
mulberries when they want to gossip
about barter systems & hair. 
on the train my bank clawed 
at my ribs all jungle gym in the rush. 
i was on my way to work not
on the way home. the work like
an axe drug behind a horse. the horse,
trying desperately to walk on two legs.
everything about this country is 
about giving your grief masks 
to keep it at bay. i call this "broke."
i call this "horse." i call this "overdraft."
the rent like a flower without 
a neck. the bees in the bush by
the front door, raising them hum
to meet the train. i consider riding
until the train falls apart. until the 
last stop's last stop fractures & i am alone
among the wheels. why isn't it 
ever enough? the money, no where
to be seen. pilot numbers flying
into a storm. i go to the bay.
pull a heron from my mouth. whisper
to her, "do not save your money." 
she asks, "then what should i do with it?"
i respond, "buy as many grapes as you can."