Capturing Your Tedius Precious Children On The Phone 1

the volumes feel blank, with the other
mothers, i stand in line with my santa
sac and gold teeth waiting for my turn
on the painted dot when the magnifier
will come on, each volume, the blur
of a starfish child spinning up to the
doctor's eye, the liquid bolts of the
painting move across the peaks of its
tin roof. this little thong is thinking
long, and this little package feel
a time to string. rolling the starfish
over onto its back, i notice its legs
are little children and x's, suddenly
i'm smoke again.