I borrowed the world in a cup
Of my neighbor’s sugar.
I licked my fingers like bones
Without the wastefulness of flesh.
Tomorrow, no milk man
Will retreat into the evening light.
Those cow-days are gone
With the last bright star taking its life
Back from history’s smooth operation.
Did I tell you, do I tell you
Let everything go.
I will take out the trashcan tomorrow.
Let the dog shit in the kitchen.
The memories she can’t forget
Evolve like kid-lit over a flashlight.
The tents set up on the sand.
Our little green and black flea-homes.
Nights will be hard, I tell the woman
In the next house with the blue door.
My grandmother still talks to her husband,
To the avocado tree, to the chair he flung
Himself against in a last attempt at life’s
Smallest pleasurable thing: the television.
This electricity, we pay for.
But the blood is part water
And the water part of our blood.
These bones do taste good,
The woman says as I take my hand
Back from her face.
I need them too, too much
And I'm not a liar or a thief.