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an envelope full         of milk         lulling

each exposed rib to purr         a world within

where kindling touches flare

the other day i made my belly into a bowl for mixing. in it i found kaolinite, aluminum oxide, and silicon oxide. an awkward necessity, the addition of water, my face obliging after a sequence of thoughts. art makes the eyes hurt this way, teardropping a tuition to the bowl.

my hands already wet by then i pushed myself into shape. an exact copy of what i would look like half melted in the sun, which is its own kind of accuracy. she had a fuller ass than you’d realize, the clay approximate. representation is a work. i thanked her, sprinkled lavender on her back, whispered an address, and set her on fire.

you stroke an absence of clay         in your home elsewhere. a ghostmouth

       hosting the hot load.       what is a haunting but the timing of receipts?

stay where you are, i’ve issued a missive.

                                   she looks less like me than the specter sliding
       the length of you at night.

she showed appropriate gratitude for the far end of the kiln and set herself to walking. imagine the heavenly bodies of road signs hustling her to your door. she had instructions to pull her center column open and invite your hand to the cavity of her statuary. i don’t know what she told you there, only that i gave her fifty cents of my voice for the work.

the night of her arrival         i slam the doors of my body

            convulsions as if to shut            your hand inside

the crimson pulp of my offering   till morning breaks the seal again