I scoop out the inside of my face
spit the seeds
at the Welcome Wagon
Children, enter my empty head
I have dangerous zits and a porcupine
also a hammock of great ideas
Some kind of emotion whirs like cards
stuck between the spokes of my teeth
or the library
They ask me
what will we see
through your one blind eye?
And I say the childless stars that spangle
the dark thong of the faceless sky
the pole-dancing god who made me