Inside the caverns of your mother,
clock hands tickle the dormant surface.
A stressed bulb flickers like a moth.
Their wings uncoil into serpents!
Thin cut slabs of laundry
melt off knobby tree hinges.
The chef retracts his knife.
Cars out back line up like sushi.
An ant crawls into your ear.
Slinking balls land in corners,
invigorating metal frames swish,
and beads of sweat keep tearing off.
Blue blossoms scatter like
a festival's shattering fireworks.