DOT DEVOTA


SCENES FROM MY MASSACRE

A long time ago the ego and I met.
Beyond that, my knowledge is rather agoraphobic.
We have been careless with each other
I wake grinding my teeth
I scream, my life is ruined! You are my life and you ruined it!
There is no universal signal
for I’m saving you right now!
only one for save me! and so I appear
smaller on the horizon.

Witness that old image.
Thus, the image is burdened. My animals fester.
Like an angel is a person who used to be
greedy for money and is now, hatched in light and breath,
a greedy do-gooder, greedy at watching,
stalking those who still stalk the stalk
between the face and the thing I’m getting off on.

If I wanted to die I would first make a coffin for myself
and I’d start by getting a job
in a library, a people’s library
a quiet place that shelves people
because I know I’m never going to be governor of even the shittiest town
in Michigan
when in the distance is my factory.
The sewage is paid by the owner,
me. The sewage gets dumped on-site
I’m the body in the bag and the dilemma of dragging it.

Fitting into one’s coffin is the right fit
for the brain not to float away
because we are mortal and cannot limit the power of associations
I prepare by burying myself under solid lethargy
soaked in the excrement of boutique rains
where my family crochets their fingers to root vegetables
because there is not time,
because time will not run later than it has to
nipples turning hard peak out of the ground
giving all those who ask a suck.
 
 
 
 
VOICES FROM THE PLANTED JARS

In the kitchen the toaster hovers above the counter
anytime you can sweep the crumbs from underneath
escaping just to remain larger at the edge of one’s home

I hurl an application don’t wait to see where it falls
a silent holiday s’more useless voice angering my stomach
a domesticated animal fell down a well
its nuts afloat your image recites to you upturned paws

Night-blooming in the garden I eat and do not feel full
these colonies put near my mouth
 
 
 
 



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