They’re going to bury me alive, little sad shape!
They’re going to tie a hundred fish hooks into my hair!
… While you weren’t home I picked your locks

and licked all the dust off your picture frames-
I’m chasing 52- the lonely whale, the french suit, David’s birth year.
I am particularly fascinated by random bursts of roadside flowers.

Twin rabbits ran towards Heat Lightning and I thought
It might be nice to hit them with my car, the sensation
Of bone and flesh giving way under assembly line weight.

Watched rainbows dance in the wire grid of the fryer basket
And the oil popped on a kamikaze mission towards my cornea-
Missing slightly, it seared a circle just below my brow.

You remove the feeling with the same lie that gets rid of a
Tapeworm- you starve your heart three days and
Hunch your fluttering body over a basin of milk.