blowtorch the little creature.

I yelp in an already
soundless
fire.

the poor are a substitute.

name one thing
I can replace.

my father stuffed me in his coat
and biked me
to a park.

he biked away when a lady approached us waving.
the teeth on the zipper of his coat made me hum to myself.
he said jesus I’ll bet she eats ice cream with two hands.

mother didn’t lower her voice because mother didn’t raise it.

flatness is a landmark.