an early bath

my phone speaks a foreign language

and maybe this means that my face is attached to your face

somewhere. not licking. i mean digitally.  i mean ok.

start at the beginning. how young were you

when you forgot how young you were.

when did you vomit at the shape of the word ‘linear.’

did you even stare until all of its sharp

lines were living cells. did you even. you did. did you.

my phone says “bombing in damascus kills twenty-five.” ok.

“paramedic accused of rape inside of ambulance.” ok.

howsabout you lift me out of this digital carousel

and onto just some dumb pony, a breathing pony,

a maudlin pony,

all wet and dressed up alone in a drying room, a laughing room,

a room for biographies. ok. a dying pony, even. a failing pony or,

you know, a panic pony. a dog, even. you know.

a dog under my bed who my phone never speaks to

without me even knowing.

semantic satiation says: i am no longer hungry for that undercover

canine. i mean agent. i mean mix me up sometimes. you know.

flip me over, even: a living cell position.  a bombing-kills-25 position.

an ambulance rape position. 

we forget how to fill or do. but when you start recognizing me i swear

it’ll be for the better. and when my phone stops forgetting me 

i’ll still be licking that dumb pony.