Wishing to activate my own imaginal cells,
I dissolve or at least commit to dissolving.  

It’s a lie. A sympathetic machine
took my money, modifier be damned.

Took? It was I myself who fed it. Fed?
In a sidecar, wind rides a stuffed dog’s ears.  

This is the work of companionship.
Bringing ourselves into contact,  

anticipating someone else’s glee, if not joy.
We never wished to be perfect  

as the tornado’s verb: the town off the interstate
that the tornado tore through. Noun remaking  

itself into action. Noun destroying its noun-
ness, dissolving its syllables in a chrysalis  

of silence. Another failure. But for my love’s delight
as his order, its capsaicin waft, clears out  

the restaurant, opens all the doors.