9/12

kitchen on the moon

i walk to the edge of my yearning.
break bread into smaller & smaller castles.
barefoot as an astronaut, following 
a highway made of ginger. o moon, will you give me 
a refrigerator full? eggs spinning with 
thoughts of feathers. i woke up once in a nest.
mars red through tree branches. why do i always 
try to get far away from myself to feast?
to rest? as if there might be a place i could go
where my body would unpuzzle itself. blood like
a velvet tide. i eat standing at the counter
by the spigot & cutting board. i leave crumbs.  
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