cons

i've swallowed continents en masse, & all
their statues too, or their shot glasses (i
admit to a collection) or their calls,
their laughs & hiccups, ornaments in piles
on trees – the odd ingredient in pies
& tickets to museums & that night itch
of metaphysics' batty evil eye.
i listen for the strange ways we debrick
each other, say hello, craft whole triptychs
of queries after dogs & aunts, i wake
with elbows bruised from who knows which
event i tripped into (but i would bake
forever while you read me nietzsche or
the dialogues or charmed me to the floor)