sugar-secrets line the groping wheel.

sugar-secrets line the groping wheel.
by shannon baker
by the last days
our sailing battery
would have saved him.
but all that wind between us
crippled lightly, locked the cage.
& the green car that lived
at the edge of my lightbulb fingertip would
not have been sacrificed but
often i would gather strips of grass stained fever-canvas
to bind (at last) his blood factory
for a time when
there were facefulls of unwimpered lunatic promises
that we swapped on both porches and
still
if in tucking sunrise you would visit
those old boneyard campfires
you could find our mouthing organs wrapped in newspapers and wilting head-leaf
remains.
nobody could remember who the president was
so we put twenty tabs of acid in a paper cup
and everyone closed their eyes to witness newly enabled star-vision.
stubborn electronic warriors smashed their genitals together one hundred times after the ending.
also,
fat-lipped tree stalks existed
and i thought i’d said the right things because
they eventually gave me medicine as we shared the broken porch swing
even though
i stole a stapler
a library card
and two nearly rotten
asian pears.
how
ever
our skulls are expanding can you
feel it can you
feel the atmosphere as it shrinks
or
understand the birds who speak
many languages but
say the same thing they all say
(again&again)
they say:
eventually
this
will be
nothing.