The plumbing in this building is much like me,
each pipe and tube has a purpose, always
slightly malfunctioning
I thought my body would operate in perfect harmony
I mean sure, I’m slowly dying and
my faith in these inventions, nascently wavering
I never trusted man-made machines
can’t stand on top of a building without looking
nauseatingly down
just a one off thought to the bottom
crumbling structures populating my nightmares after falling into a slumber
and what is it about my travels through terra forma
so defined by contradictions and miscalculated perceptions
I thought I knew me
but some folks know better, apparently
I’ve been taught to look down on this body, it’s
only purpose to bear children and surely,
sex is only for procreation, or at least that’s what
Uncle told me in the Big Sky Country
“You know, honey, you’d be happier with a husband” and
“bisexuality only equates to women who like to have fun,” he says,
with a glint in his eye that prompts me to lie
“I’ve never had sex with a woman,” I say
cheeks flushing red in the heat of the moment and
suddenly I’m laying in bed at night
on stark navy blue sheets, questioning
everything that ever was or should be
because of mr man in the even bigger sky
I wouldn’t want him to see me cry
but lack of sensitivity is the recipe that got us here
That petulance, I feel, clutching fistfuls of dried flowers
as I desire to wilt away
rather than give power to this nation’s men whose
date nights at Applebees causes constipation
I thought my plumbing was faltered
but as I wait to get funneled beneath the bay
perhaps I work a little better than they say
and maybe I trust man-made machines
more than the words my own family utters to me
after one too many drinks
With that faith in humanity, still
nascently wavering
I’m disappearing farther underground and the
people on the solo seats ahead and behind me,
I like to think
we stand in silent solidarity
and maybe these machines,
doing better than the men that made me
though probably made by
men
DEAR GOD how do we escape them
But we’ve all got pipes and tubes that leak
in all the wrong places and
collectively, we jump in the puddles of our own messes
resembling buildings, crumbling to the masses