radiator love poem i used to try to see how long i could last without turning the heat back on. the pipes in our building are full of eels. you said, "i want to feel my bones again." i crouch in front of the dead horse & ask for a fire. contemplate how & what i will try to steal from the gods. the world is turning to ice age in front of my eyes. i use a blow dryer to unthaw the rose bushes outside. dry petals fall to the earth. i watched you smoke on your little metal balcony, the plumes from our mouth like foot soliders. who & what is coming for you? a bagel we split before i decided to live inside a conch shell. the life of mulberries bursting. i don't want to be a candle. i want to be oil which is to say i want to be the ancient shoulders. give me dinosaur tear ducts. give me a fireplace i can lay down in. cradle the log. but the radiator speaks of beautiful sunsets & raisin cookies. spiral galaxy. snakes, when close to dying of the cold, will coil around each other into a wonderous knot of skin & skin & skin. this is how our building will one day fall. in a tethering of bodies. the basement is full of roots that lead to a ghost tree. turning the heat back on i feel like i am becoming a moth. i search for a thumb's worth of light to tell my every secret to. the sun kneels down. the radiator gallops.