my blood is champagne music when i decide                  to love the smell 

 

of sawdust. here, woodchip                     milkfroths my little                  finger, radon glowing 

 

me to rock                     of poison — the house              is inside of me starting

 

with the deadbolt. i beg              of thee, believe ghosts              come a-framed, ceilings 

 

sweltering with lady bugs; it’s a squall in here, fast                      & red & blinding. i don’t want

 

your antlers mounted              at the roof of my mouth but here i am, a trophy 

 

case or coffin.              crawl through me; fun haus                     & mirrored hallway.       my mother 

 

standing on one end                a scale beneath her feet like that day’s 

 

mood ring & my         fantasy of throwing it through the window,                      smashing, 

 

to wood or else thorn. on the other end my own mirror              & me in it & me in it

 

            and all of the me          contained in the hull                    of house, hating 

 

my body          as it accumulates           half baths & foyers          & the land of lakes 

 

lady, getting bigger or smaller               depending on the framing,          nevertheless i’m craving 

 

butter                not always for me, but also       for my mother                i pray that the mirror-mirror 

 

shows us what is wanted             & that some of it is me