PUPPETEERS

1.

I understand more than I can say. The last firework went off, which does not concern you or me. Saying nothing can often mean more than something, something being anything and anything being echoes. Mercy, I need antibiotics or a detox on the skull. I brushed my teeth and packed a bag. Don't forget the camera. It’s possible I won’t write a single thing after this-- no one’s asking me to. In New York, with Emily, in moratorium we listen for sirens and watch the burglars. I don’t want to come down. Let’s stay here and eat bagels, just take pictures. 

2.

My neck shortened. (It was on a string). And my arms and legs collapsed. All the kids kept shouting in their cages— they wanted more. I told them to appreciate the small things and stop whining. They started crying, and their plump mothers came to take them away. Am I going to have to spoon-feed you too?

3.

In the sanitarium, we’re playing checkers. You like to watch thrillers at lunchtime and collect smiling faces. I tried to kill my stepmother with nail clippers. I should have used the lawnmower. You are tired of waiting, so many hiccups and delays. So much uncertainty. It builds character. What can I say? You have a strong jaw line and cherry colored lips. I will go to the presses and print you with my own hands.