on these days the world screams in my ear and i sit in the
backyard and pull apart
bird feathers. the landmass sobs dust. my lungs hiss
and seethe, stab my skin,
and i start
eating up the air to see what it will do.
little by little, i have brought oklahoma
into my room. dust crawls on bare surfaces and wings sleep
in the walls. i have piles of bones
and teeth and ribboned gyres of animal flesh.
i hope i will be the first to catch a
disease. i hope the doctors will look stunned and
stuck amidst paper and checkboxes.
some day it will be cold. i will
stand in pink skin until my lips turn
black and the dust sinks and sings. there will be rain.
on this day, rain
will reach into my lungs and heart and my eyes and find
something deep and meaningful. with black lips
i will rejoice having escaped this drought