will you come with me on this sailboat?

cardboard titans

you twisted off the edge of the package and poured silly string out your ear under the bed next monday night to a round of applause. they nibbled around your feet like rats in summertime on a warm night under a full moon. plenty of children pointed to your balloon, the red one over the forest glinting in the sunset but you were playing chess under deck waiting for the waves to crash and drown your sister's daughter's heart. melting teacakes got smeared on our faces and flushed past the second basement of mops in a castle lost in the clouds or a cube of cubes on the edge of a spiral deep in my other stomach. there is a strange place there like layers of untied shoes laces now gone missing and round nesting boxes left alone in a corner at the back of a shelf in my grandmother's house. it is mostly metal they found in a kitchen - they had to sneak in through the window. a funnel, a small cup. on her way to the supermarket she found an alley with cold empty space waving at her like sunshine yesterday while it snowed and she dove in the lake for the brick at the bottom, a small child drowning with a red hat

they left it undone and the peices flew in the wind toward all corners of everywhere

left in the sand a small round stone

and around the other side in tomorrow there were birds in cages and soft yellow-green light everywhere and tin foil dresses crinkling and creasing and tearing suddenly. what is this fuzzy jagged pain?

pretty soon the plane will land in arizona carrying my sweet son's wife to her mother in a garden of stones and cacti. shfiting around getting sunburned. where are the weeds to pull? the river is drying up, dont try to promise me water when im a child in a child's arms. sundried tomatoes in brittle cages all ants gone surfing in the crashing water at the shore.

will you come with me on this sailboat?