Call the exterminator today, won't you?
I am infested with thoughts.
Sparks tuck themselves into the folds of my fisted palms
Like stowaways behind boilers in the engine room—
Shall I muffle the rumbling with my cowering, sweating flesh
Or set it all alight and fly with the impact?
Lip-bitten decisions bleeding backward into the swollen hole.
I dream of having more than one throat.
I dream of all the arguments I could win if I could fight them
choked up. I imagine oxygen dispersing into my lungs
without choice and wonder if the wonderland of regret would still
Spiral like a donation down a coin vortex
Without the ear canals to hear it?
How much do exterminators cost and is it more
than a steamship to a new world or a less flammable body?
The colony marches through intricate tunnels leading anywhere
Except the truth.
I call you back with the microphone muted.
I've grown fond of listening to anger.
