"Basement Song."
Out of the deep, I dreamed the mother, how deep the mother,
deep the basement, the body, the odor of laundry,
the sweat of athletic socks.
The grass inside the song stains me.
The mother stains me.
That was the year they cut my throat and toads bloomed
on my voice box.
I have kept my head up, have kept myself out of trouble.
But deep is trouble.
Deep is mother, deep the song inside summer.
Did I tell you it hurt accepting air in a new body?
And since the change, the air burns.
How are we doing for time?
Are we all right?
I don't know what time I started.
At least another fifteen to twenty minutes.