and I scoff
a prune strapped up
in bacon.

Neil Diamond
monotones from speakers.

A finger
climbs my face
and sticks
in my right eye.

I sit cyclopic
straining at a world

listening...

My son

she blurts

is on retalin has
goosebump hair
cross dresses
walks the streets
and brings back cats.

I've a son too

and a tunnel in my head
where the wind whistles through
but mostly

I'm hoping for a door
to open
so I can walk
through your mouth

and step outside.