ululates

ululates:

My newphew stomps
each beige lizard he finds
from beyond the chrysalis of
our bathroom mirror.
Is there a nature of habitat
that escapes? Out of it
a cicatryx the color
of water passed through entire
chapelfuls of hands.
To prevent a sudden loosing
of the cannon, a thumb plugs
the potential for ember to flare.
A removal at a chance for kinesis.
Sometimes the lizards scurry dizzingly
across a carpet that hides them, scoffs
at us for chase, the dog unaware,
oblivious along a flyway,
my nephew indifferent to death.
When he is older, I will suggest a position
as carollineur within a pestless belfry,
to suffer the reverb of beating something,
to appreciate use of force when resulting
in melody instead of a spoonful of quivering.
While scrubbing clean the carpet of small body
I wonder about the peeling of fruit and whether
an orange minds its nakedness prior to
propogating a seperate body,
wonder about fog and its willingness;
the failure of ligament; how to explain
torrent to the dog; what else may violently
welcome themselves from behind the gap
in the bathroom mirror.

Silent for a pitch, finally ask the boy
if he understands the value of life, if he
thought it possible to brush the dead guest
into the hyacinth bush instead.
No hesitation, he points at the fading red
blot, says ‘I won’t let anything run from me,
and no one wants to go into rain, and also
think you missed a leg, right here.’

ululates