Secret (Travel) Agent
Assigned to this suit case, your salmon-colored
lining is a plus. Almost a vessel, but you could
not contain those many packets of AB + leaving
a sentient trail.
along the pestle of your jaw, your speech scatters
in all-purpose clumps. The common content of your mind
sifts mundane décor into cookie-cutter squares.
Squares so exact the men
engineer their chess game to include “consumption credits,”
eating away at the board itself. As the stately pieces accelerate
in every direction, the grounds succumb to satiated erasure
at the full mouths of giants.
the open plains are made of dull, teddy bear fur. There are
thousands of janitors raking and mopping the threaded terrain,
absolving, for you, the consequences of your violent mission.
All the while
you cultivate innocent sleep, clutching a great, blue pillow
in your biceps and femoral adductors. You could call this a fetal
position, but what could a mere flash in the generator be holding
onto with such might? Whatever it is,
I suggest you leave it here, in the lining of this silver engine,
just one small thought in the mind of the sky.