in an unkempt tower dawns the sun
strange and clear������at a crude table
I sit down to potatoes of nuclear winter

how long will they feed me? how long

for the first fruit from seeds sewn
into my skirts? shall I
let them fly, start a small commotion?

in mason jars, I mix fireflies with profanities
to illuminate my selves������I uproot lily bulbs
from graveyards to plant in my shoes

jump joyfully and joyfully jump over the besotted
toe peeking from beneath blankets

let me gather wood and words, carve birdhouses
for the silver crow, smear my face with warpaint
wrung from crimson progeny

at cock's crow, ha, circadian beasts
to wrap my tongue around - ha, again
when you dare

������������leave the gate open