dummy

Later on, a box holds up the ground.
A woman moans in it. She takes
weeks to rescue. I am her tormentor. I say
one million to the phone. I have drugged her
and am breathing onto her small breasts.

It is serious business. No one listens. There is
no one around. No noise. I have drugged
her and am breathing onto her small breasts.
It is serious business. I say one million
to the phone. I am her tormentor.
Anything can happen.

I see the faint cries she makes shake out
from a tube, in my hand. This hollow reed, this
rubber hose. It is serious
business. She breathes through this
thin tube, this rod. This is how we
communicate.

I want to buy her a bird, a pretty one like
in the back of this book, Wallace Stevens,
The Palm at the End of the Mind.
She’ll love it. I’ll read slow
and deliberate. I’ll make tiny holes.
She’ll want me to read it all of the time.
I’ll make tiny holes. This is how we’ll
communicate.