To swallow the brick as the petunia
dries. The velvet has its mouth
dries. The velvet has its mouth
on edge. In the window, the sand likes
to count its time. Bowl. Ivy. Saltmarsh.
It wakes me in the morning to rain. I count
each chemical on the tire.
My hunger is on the back
of my head. Where have you gone
that you can hear the water
underneath. The sphere curdles.
The sphere moves under
my tongue. As a woman I snap
a branch and it must kill me. My liver
on a cool white plate. A shell
is in the drought of
calcifying. I find a thousand
traps. The reptile licking
up the side of me.