I ate two omlettes
this morning,
had a few cups of coffee
as you let me go
over grits.

When I walked around
I pulled myself along
by ropes thrown down
by the clouds,
and helped myself
to a full helping
of blue sky as salty as lobster,
and still I walked,
with too much sodium
in my veins,
I walked around
passing the others
as they were to me:
others.

In this alien world,
I pluck my blessings
from the sky,
as it darkens with thunder,
I place
my hope
in lightning and it's frenzied slapping of the earth
because it mimics my frantic heart
in its crazy destinations.

So I put you in tiny places
inside of me,
the box labeled toys
is where I put the buzzing
apparatus that is you,
in the kitchen supplies
I lie
and say there is nothing there,
when there is everything I have hidden
that is you.

So as I move,
I carry around storage
spaces
and boxes
marked in the wrong names
carrying heavy things
bearing you
in their heavy wake.