2.
Wanting to leave
A fevered imprint on past and future
Is a stem-shaped doorway in between,
With an open, blue
Petaled face for day,
Closed at night.
Then the war economy’s military
Surrounds the sunrise whose belly,
An ocean of light, laps my eyelids’
Sleeping insides with Mothership’s
Gentle laughter.
The stem-door
Might grow cancerous
Tumors, mossy, bulbous and green;
And although it’s now
Bathing in golden warmth
And it’s been stifled by the sprawl
Of suburban soil,
Windows face rising
Milk white roots
Tapping the glass.