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