remembering a mouth but where’s the silver pill
the right to be forgotten or to multiply the metal
emptiness but is it vacancy or greenery the room
i decorate into a chaste hotel with nothing of my
own i can’t walk by my vulgar dailiness like that
a soggy book i stuff a photograph into the dresser
filled with rats who dream prophetically of failing
malls i palm her mouth in sleep where she is always
running or unwrapping smelly breakfast sandwiches
beside her father on the train it’s common to resist
the sputter of a punctual machine the body bending
back in space the densely punctuated grid it begs
for ownership our dreams are muscular with traps
between the shoulder blades belonging to myself
to the rats when we are circling the food court floor
with steak sauce on our jeans i must have drooled
for places once don’t talk to me about the mouth
his spit pooled on the floor until the room decayed
i know the tritest thing about a pile is the metaphor
of memory the right to dim a glowing sign the mall
was built to buckle like a silver shoe flattened under
metal cars i admit i loved the fragrant stores bleeding
flank on sandwiches how nothing here belongs to me
but when the train arrives on time to break the glass
there’s breakfast everywhere there’s father everywhere
the lights will dim so i will finally go home to celebrate
the failure of my grasp an empty room can be so green
a grid without a single bleeding mouth it isn’t mine
the memory the dailiness the dreaming girl the trap