i can tell that you wish i was softer,
i want to make myself more docile. i want to
pry my fingernails off for you, offer them to you as a libation,
let the auditory hallucinations do their job.
although small you’re a god nonetheless,
speaking in tongues i will never understand,
drinking flat soda because the smoke has clawed holes in your trachea and the fizz burns just a bit too much for your vessel to handle.
you take care of this body like you take care of mine,
alive;
floating, and
     in all the dimensions,
counting quarters in the back of the car.
     you are my god, and i am your fowl.
i swallow pennies, let the copper taste
     fill me up and choke me and
crawl up my spine.
     mold me like clay.