As for living to one side of yourself like a pile of rice

                   in the vicinity of the fish (as for being an eye-self

                               hanging above a body-self

content with separating cowboy stuff

                   from G.I. Joe stuff from Batman boxer shorts):

                               yeah, I’ve been there, I know what you mean,

don’t get me started.  There were, in fact,

                   ten rooms in one house. 

                               And dust and a couch and dirt and lamps. 

I was thus the body of the two hands

                   and the body of the feet

                               becoming somehow

the body primarily of the mouth

                   demanding bleach.  It’s not that I was

                               pitiful.  It was more like:

who else would eradicate

                   the rotten scattering of skin flakes

                               and hair and spiders

and such?  Who else would swab the spit? 

                   So sure it was wholesome at the river

                               when I was a new mom

but creepy is the point

                   to live for the wiping of boots

                               and the soaking of jackets

with my mouth open and my poor tongue sticking out

                   like I was hoping to comprehend

                               what was wrong

with being mostly as I say

                   just the eye part of something

                               soaking in the grimy particles

while all the other girls went on being actual girls

                   and I’m sorry to have to say this

                               since I know it’s upsetting

but that’s the way it was; I appreciate your asking

                   come again real soon

                               be careful watch your step.