Everywhere is a porthole, a cowboy singing
us awake in a weed patch. We need to materialize
more engines and we need them now.
We're in a formation like New Hampshire.
If you look closely I'm stitching an airplane-shaped raft.
I'm singing a medley for these molecules I have.
You're welcome. This mattress is now a bomb.
What will it take to excommunicate my lower half?
Is it nearly day enough for a jumpsuit?
At last I've found the store that sells
quality replicas, but today we wear our real heads.
We are invited somewhere nice, our horoscope says.
Let's travel by assembly line.
Invisible family where are you. There are people
I'd like to show you. People with their mouths full.
I'm in the state shaped like a chest. I have a mason jar
of sequins. Where is your savage love anyway?
How about some gratitude for once?
This morning I read my entire diary out loud
and only one voice spoke back.
Sometimes you come back to a different place.
Sometimes changing all the batteries is worse.
Your parents might be doing a sleep study.
Tomorrow night, a vigil.
The house you grew up in is now a pharmacy.
Sometimes you need to plan what to hate.
Sometimes there's a fireside chat in your honor.
Out on the parkway is a trick.
You start to think there's a turbine set up.
You come out with your pilot eyes.
When the backyard is ready
you can stake our territory.
You can karate chop every plant.
You can make a farm out of almost anything.
From inside someone says this is not our house.
This is not a place to gather our troops.
When the rakes disappear
the neighborhood goes primal.
We become their angular shadows.
This is a farewell for the ages.
ANNE CECELIA HOLMES