Competing Voices

Go, make a cake
Find
My bed is full of water
The floor has mud
Pebbles, dried like black beans

So pull up her pants.
Laughter
I don’t have sugar and flour
You can’t have

And then, a doctor, a comic chemist
Look up.
Receivers can pick up a new traveler on their way up
Nose down
Not just upon land
Eyes up
Maybe

What if you’re sad?
You want sad?
The funeral is on the radio
What
What
And now, you’re a gardener?
Prove it, with years

Drink all the coffee you want
It’s the wrong funeral.
Deeper, like the tunnel where the princess was flashed to death
I know what you want

Turn over
White bath of sheets
A lover.
Dryness broken, with bile and sweet saloon
Bitter, coffee lips meet
Streaks of black hair, and oil, and lace
Nostrils filled with tears and sexy crows’ feet
Have the cake

I didn’t know you were in my bed
Yes, put plastic under the sheet
Really, I didn’t know.
The flowery blanket
Cut shapes
The beans have grown like supernovae.
Cut shapes!

And then, a mother
Finished
My family in a grotto
Lit with tungsten, and furnished like a summer home on a coniferous island
But still, finished
The floor has mud

A parade descends the stairs
There were stairs.
What if there were stairs?
And my pants keep falling
That’s really dangerous.

You really cannot.
And I’m not sorry
I’m sorry, I’m just not sorry
Have it -
You can turn away, and laugh, and commit crimes, and learn from a limping dwarf
But I’m sorry,
You just can’t.
Sometimes, there’s science and math.