waiting on the baby’s lashes
to dip & stay dunked 
like a pebble tasted, skipped & sunk 
the taste of gardens, secret
& the funk of nontrivial algae.

baby, a vagina is 
two held hands that bleed. 
I’m crazy, I jump poems
kicklessly like frog’s legs. 

begging poems like bubbles of kiss 
look for lips
bliss 
waver
pop. 

softly, baby, bleed upon the earth. 
it’s nothing more 
than a pebble heading home, 
striking water, landing near. 

Don't climb the fence, But why miss cate, 
Kid eating foxes, fangs, hungry mold, evil witches, 
No don't lick the fence, Miss cate 
Yes, What's evil, What do you think? 
A lot of emergencies outside today, Yes, 
That's evil, Maybe, I had a dream, Yes? 
That my daddy got fired, A dream, Yeah, 
and then he took a poop on the floor, Oh no, 
A real poopy blowout, Let's line up now, back
to the symbol room, designed to stupefy 
with comfort colors, what is awe but a paralysis? 

my senior teacher pulls the shades, 
shuts out a UFO cloud, frustrated kids abandon windows 
and clump on the books, rifling for answers
fills me with joy and dread, denied the real, 
they seek symbolic knowledge, like a prison guard 
I bring them news of the outside, 
woolly cat caterpillar, red ants, beech leaves, we identify 
evil, the smell of gasoline and the sweetmalted air of cereal factories, we cooperate 
on mysteries of addition, and doorknobs, bumping heads too large like hydrangeas, 
Miss cate, I miss my mommy, I know you do baby, gentle, 
Miss cate? Why is your name that? 
Why is your name E? Because I miss my mommy, 
That's a good reason, A prison guard is gentle 
so the ideologies of social control can reproduce 
within kids, without them noticing, Don't squeal,
Eat your mushy crackers, Culturally sustained brain damage, 
that's evil, Eat your boiled trash! 

but we're learning to read bit by bit, 
that's progress, we're learning to share, 
and one by one the parents come in exhausted commutes and I report the joys 
of our day, ten hours in the symbol room, memorizing symbols, 
and they leave in twos and threes, I do not report my sociologies: 
if you do not exist within a coherent village, 
you do not deserve to raise a child, I cannot report that, 
the communeless kids are already born, confined to capitalist families and comfy prison, 
a prison guard is also in prison, even when I go home, 
so I go home, the daytime people 
exchange places with the nighttime people 
to avoid overcrowding, last jangle of pinktambourine sky 
and first prick of cold stars, so I find you in bed 
already, and we want and fuck and fall asleep so fast 
my legs still cloudywet the next morning
and this is all there is, legs and life are sticky, hope that's not a UTI.