i’d like you to feel
the pain of the branches,
the hunger of the train as it passes,
the cry of the girl
when the dolls are raped
This thing of opening one’s legs
is as sinister
as making mouths of my hands.
it’s sad this business of waiting for you
d i s p e r s e d
to sleep entangled in the trees.
at times i’m the vase of all the living rooms
lodging my teeth in your ribs
how good it is
to leave one’s eyes in the bathroom.