i am not a flower box
or the plastic people
from amazon.com
i received in the mail
don't take me as revetment
or a hollow
egg
for your morning.
i am born.
and filled.
and
let's not reduce to
phrenology or other
psuedoscience, let's
know
things,
that food of
hawks
and taste, too.
the back of your hair
is a rainforest of
unknown thoughts
and things on the floor
that only courage
can discover,
and my temples,
deserts full of empty
chairs across from me.
speaking of emptiness,
let's clink coffee mugs
at breakfast
to sentimental
metaphors, who
(beautiful news anchors)
report only what
is afforded by
sponsoring infatuations.