Ten twenty four

I heard an ambulance, no.

Two.
Something moved inside the walls, unknown.

A student of the dorm sneezed
and coughed.

The waterfall of high pitch
began. Stopped, began.

you are just a prism, angling up my eloquence
        in yellow, just a plant—

    the mountains grew you from a trickle to a falls

and then you asked about yourself

                winter into spring a cantaloupe cloud
        or dizzy as a beaker full of light
frothing over spirals of kelp
                twelve mermen dried the sun, my source

you have folded Satan
        and I'm walking on a crease

just where one hue glued our tongues
                        did you notice?

I had left a thought inside you

that you opened without hearing
        and you told me in a butterfly
an endless list of colors without listening

numb psyches poverty rings
        mopping the floor with my teeth
I have cleaned this room
        too many times
                        already
                                (today?)
                                        the walls are dripping with penitents
                        no with acorns
        plowing the wallpaper with my tongue
                this species grows from the mouth
        picking up the ceiling
                cant bend that far without pain
am I on the wing?