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