the solar system is in jeopardy

published on metazen



we shook her ashes toward the ocean

stompin' on bricks

shoes don't fit feet made of bricks. i trudge store to store, tracking clay dust across the carpet and the most eager salesmen usher me straight out the door. what about commission? is it just an hourly wage these days? i feel discrimination in my bones. they express emotion: sad when it's going to rain; angry informs me of arthritis. they've been feeling like rain for months and i expect it any moment and should probably get my bricks inside before they become soaked and trail rust everywhere. i'm going to write a complaint about this mistreatment.

the missive forms in the weeks it takes to get home and bang up the steps to my apartment, which i discover half empty. i sink a few inches, stumble flailing in a cloud of dust and gaze down upon fleshy toes. testing them, i tiptoe to the icebox, remove a frozen pizza, fire up the oven and wait for the rain.

grow up

cut from my belly; torn from my womb
you and i were in distress
you weren't breathing so i stopped, too
strapped down, crucified by restraints
even the doctor seemed panicked
rushing precisely with a scalpel
bloody rags on the floor
please breathe
finally, a tiny cry that swelled my heart
my guts on the outside were tucked and sewn back in
thank god you were okay
but what do you mean you don't feel like cleaning your room