Milking Away in the Milky Way
Without waking up, I swat away
the ghosts of surgeons. Their eyes
stitched shut by sunlight, the lashes
prod for nightmares to tickle. Like
the skeleton of a gymnast dismounting
the corpse she's still wearing.
Navigator, stick the landing gear in my skull,
the stained runway of a grave dug backwards. A
pilot's lunchbox packed with the leftover
splatters of four planets microwaved
on high for a month.
What a big fucking microwave...
when the beep rang, the universe's
hands covered everyone's ears.
They watched birds with beaked anchors
sink into a sea of solar skepticism.
In a galaxy of mistrust,
I hiss at skies with cat food eyes,
snatch lightning bolts
then snap the spines, swallow
clouds like pills disguised, and
vomit thunder pasteurized.
Please enjoy your cereal.