TAKE ME OVER THE WHEEL OF IT
i am going with plaster molds.
in chin rest of days tumbling over each other.
what is mundane is the rain, &
a fiery crowd that will not make
the hill, where joints of houses collide
toward a fat church that holds
too big a corner of things.
spilling the cup of the cat meowing,
making milk leak as that carpet of night.
nothing to train on, but that metal canary
bought by granny in a delancy shop.
it was once mechanical, & could
pick up sunflower seeds, so big was its beak.
its jaws died wide open.
how many packages of sound have
since exploded around me?