I bury my ghosts with a hatchet.
I bury them at the bottom of the ocean.
I bury the ocean beneath a mountain of concrete
and clear my throat. The moon is a mouth,
a crone urging me to do evil things
that I don’t want to do. An owl escapes
from my lung and explodes into flames.
The sky falls down and drowns in a swamp,
a blur of flailing slurry, a light going out.
I’ve seen giants carry planets in their palms,
they are stupid things, they fall and break them open
like sloppy eggs. Theirs is a clumsy death. Rain
follows me around. I trap light in jars and turn
the whole world into paper as a joke,
just to crack a cheap smile.