Maybe that’s all language is:
a long corridor of humans leaning

Are we human-shaped humans, 
worshipping god-shaped gods

I left you tumbling down memory lane,
your grievances ‍ ‍

When the cat’s bell sounded.
They urged me to be peaceful,

All while those who picture crosses,
yelling pitchy at hotels

Please dismiss my squawk,
excess blurbing, babble; 

i spend work hours editing dead bird.
pen bendy against the pressure

I still had a strange urge to
take off my shoes in your house, 

press our bare chests 
Onto the cold steel

gently gnawing and pecking away 
at all my freakish memorabilia.

at least
in hell

The way; my ache suggests a day, a week
Or month of lifting thirty pounds of heavy