~for R~*

I could walk out and grab the strings and pull
pull them out of her mouth
the colors would unravel
thick with saliva.

I could throw myself in
among reginae
among rejoicing
on a flying machine.
When my companions fearless

asked about the saliva,
I could say, “rain”
“Rain rain rain.”
Then pull on the thick blue ropes,
picture anew.

She begins to bite down
not wanting all her thread gone.
I pull harder and harder.
My skin burns into the slimy thread.
It smells terrible.

When she collapses.
I dance around in all the thread
like a kitten,
like such a kitten.