i don’t want (who does?) to be your friend
to hold a quiet head join tiniae
in their subliterary feasts and dances
inside the mucilage containers on the desk
or on the surface of things made of paper i won’t
do it no there is a limit even for those
who stand and wait when god’s tractor ploughs
down the breasted streets and digs into my
mother’s belly i want to stand and say no
no you must turn back turn back now because i am
unploughable undiggable indigestible
my house is made of beta-carbon nitride (which
may however not exist) stand with me