…(a sushi epiphany)

I take you between my teeth
and pods are your meat,
hidden in a furry salt hammock.

I feel bad biting you,
sliding out all of your secret worth
from a seam in your side.

But you satisfy,
and rest in a mound of sure shells,
like piled smiles, certain of your tabletop purpose.

I think that if you could remove beads
from me
you’d have to go through my feet.

We must all be walking sheaths
and some
stay salted, soggy,

I would rather be secret
than put back in the wrong bowl and tried again.

Under Cars

There are some things under cars
striking and unexpected.
This morning,
a bird dragging his hind legs
like bendy toothpicks
soggy and stuck to the gravel ground,
made a wing on cement sound–
so delicate and furious
so dying to lift, and loud,
I felt my ribs crush under
the same stilled rubber.
Only, how much I felt
made me oddly faster.
Other than frustrated birds,
children seem to make their recent
frequent appearance
as plastered remnants,
imprints of our obsession with speed.
We go too fast in our pods,
and miss not only the kids
but the process.
Behind the wheel, I feel more metal than
flesh, and while everything blurs past
I am nothing but air
eating air—
ruining slow—
swallowing gravel seeds.