i am inside myself

like the sun
or your blood.

there are creatures dancing
on overlapping tree roots
there are marching bands of dustmites
in the corners of your room

if you count the lines on your body
you can write a song
when you ask yourself when tomorrow is
you will never meet the clock.

by the time you are barefoot in the dirt
with your marionette body
the ants are already ballooning
to swim through your toes.

i was rude today and
i couldn't sell anything.

you can hang most things
if you can't hang something
it's meant to be kicked or eaten
if there was an answer
it would be cowering in the closet.

you can't save the world
there's no point in trying
but you can save old letters
or a self portrait from the fourth grade.

one day all butter will be consumed by whoever gets to it first, so let it be-YOU-tiful