Pigeons swarm the intersection at Ashland and 3rd.
A woman sits on the floor next to a thimble of semen and overeats a pile of orange oranges.
The capacity of breath to trust and invest.
She rides through gray congestion fascinated by her changing mind.
Face red heart racing—she finds illiteracy across the park.
Territory—the human land animal who marks her turf.
She mapped the floor with rubber strips to figure out where she belongs.
White snow falls
some are colder.
She dissects
exacto
to find a sack of fetuses.
Drills, bits, blades pully. She prays for god
to use her.
Level router sander plane.
The way things work
is that eventually
something catches.
(dl)
