Don't Look in the Basket

by Rebeccca Wolff

But to wind up

loving its permanence,

waking up to contents

I get glimpses, typically.

The things you tell your unborn

children: "You'll be many

different masters, but all the same

slave."

A phalanx of puppetry,

p's in ascension, preeminent;

prime minister. Excuse me:

why do you sit forward like that?

Oh that's easy (direct confrontation), because

I have this cumbersome weight on my back. God

is in the desperation

in fallopian tube

in porn

in coffee can

in arsenal

there must be something extraordinary going on in my face.

A long and rambling conversation.