I am a furnace

into which one could throw any amount of fuel in order to produce a flame. I blast heat, I blast heat.

I am a furnace into which one could instantly incinerate anything and turn it to dust. Metal shavings, pace maker pieces, dust dust ash ash.

To baby, upon birth

Once you’ve finished crying from the intensity of the light, I will tell you what you need to hear, things about life that you’ll learn from experience. I will tell you ahead of time so that your road will not be any rougher than it has to be.
I will place this pink hat on your head and stroke your new face with the back of my finger as I sing you the first lullaby you will remember, soft and low, as you suckle and drowse in my arms, then gasp for breath because breathing is novel. You’ll hear your first lullaby and I will sing it to you at night every night for years.
When we come home you will be safe and warm. I will quiet the dog when it tries to bark. Go to sleep.
Go to sleep. Eat plenty of vegetables. Don’t hit other kids on the playground. Once more on the slide and then we will go home. Keep away from hot things. Pet the kitty nicely. I will have your inhaler. Don’t tease the boys. Or girls. Share you toys. Spend a little money on yourself. Save a little money. Don’t worry too much about money. Bring warm clothes. Dress in layers. Sing if you want to. Draw if you want to. Come to me if you need to cry. Come to me if you want to talk. Come to me, come to me. I don’t know yet if I can make it better for you, but I can promise to do my best.
Sleep here on my shoulder until the sun comes up and I’ll whisper your name.

Great Strides

"We venture into
the vast forgetting."
Were your last words
before you stormed
out indignantly.

I shouted poems after you:
"I take four great strides
into the nothingness.
Then I turn back and
see what I have done,
what I have done.

"I take four great
strides into the nothingness.
And I rub your nose in it."

The start of something.

Bobo the chimp was born in a zoo. This was fairly unremarkable because Bobo the chimp's mother was, in fact, born in a zoo. When the zoo at which Bobo and his mother lived faced hard economic times, Bobo and his mother were grated refugee status. They were placed in a group home with other displaced primates. The home was run by an aging Jewish couple who, as their last mitzfah, decided to set up this group home for primates.
Bobo liked to read chapter books for young adults. He read the scary ones most, but he liked the books about the kids who could turn into animals best. The aging Jewish couple made sure to give Bobo plenty of books because he had trouble socializing with the other primates.
When Bobo's mother died, Bobo became very sad.

I was a drunken soothsayer in the wilderness.
I was a distressed swamp master in the desert.
I was a fetid miser out to sea.
I was a tired goat in the field.
I was a limp ocelot on a branch.
I was a Great Red Spot.
I was a clanging drawer of silverware in the sideboard.
I was a dish on the stair.
I was a banquet of many different cheeses and fruit.
I was dry and dusty.
I was a road or an alley.
I was a chute.
I was a blood transfusion and a thirsty throat.
I was just a thirsty throat.
I was a mouth, a limb, a chimpanzee.
I was a child with autism peeing in the toy aisle.
I ravished.
I was a blinking pea pod on a vine on a stake.
I was a medium rare fillet.
I was a dry article on politics in the thick lecture hall.
I was a bottle of hand lotion positioned suggestively on the back of a toilet.
I was a little blood in the urine.
I was a springtime outbreak of cholera.
I was a stinging fever in the wet bed.
I was a disaster in the crowded spaces.
I was the despair of stretch marks.
I was a deck of cards wrapped in cellophane or tissue.
I lined the walls of your sarcophagus.
I wore down the lining of my esophagus.
I ate my children, I ate my children.
I was a dubious cable on the spine of a crane.
I was a span of time in the vacuum.
I was a god, I was never a god.

I bask underground.
I bask underground.