objects

many wooden slabs

all held up by sturdy planks

leaning and tilting

cloth out and spoons down

glass set precariously

all the spoons are down

“please pick the spoons up”,

the wooden slab pleads today

and every day

all the spoons stay down

if one stays down, all stays down

the spoons never move

a small cylinder

always open and rattling

full of tiny things

it is always sad

the way the bottle turns and

tumbles, tumbles, falls

it’s never without

a smile or a laugh, always

jokes spill forever

you cannot cap it

the lid is childproofed, and i

am just an infant

fans lifting metal

loud and scary and so so

loud, my ears can’t take

they cannot take - it

they pop and bleed and burn and

they cannot take - me

Igor Sikorsky

and James Duke plotting high up

and the mother cries

“do you know your name?”

metal things do not have names

even ones lifted

a still mass with limbs

desperate and forever

pleading, bargaining

it would give its life

its not its life to give but

it would give its life

salt water pouring

Atlantic or Pacific

the mass is melted

“please pick the spoons up”

the mass is pleading, begging

it will tomorrow

all objects watch life

a life is a life is a

life is thriving now