Nightcrawlers

Darwin laid me down on a piano

to see if I could hear.

When I danced, he knew

and so he fed me to a goldfinch.

Her ponytail was messy, her earrings were mirrors,

Her shirt clung and fell off like a breathing butterfly.

She gripped a microphone, through which I writhed

one long muscle, contracting hard.

I breathed open my skin.

If it rains, I will certainly drown

under the undulating hum of power lines.

A fine, fatty blood mare

red as earth, gleaming;

I strive for the surface

I push aside everything.