dangerous even though asleep and unarmed
“He used to be pretty for a rat.” - John Ashbery

a rhythmic body woke up naturally they
made a pot of coffee they
gulped it down black they
stretched their arms overhead they
plucked a carnation from the vase they
held its sinew in their fingers they
whimpered as teeth sank into gums they
woke in agony // oh, am I still alive? they
wondered and cried for seventeen seconds they
could not lick their cheeks, but they
tasted mud // did they
remember to floss? // had they
remembered their tongue? they
did not, no // a deep grumble
the white carnation’s throat sprouted
fangs, glinting mirror, a window they
tried biting the glass unbelieving, rubbed
raw gums on me, a beaked reflection they
woke up and became a bird outside our body they
cooked bacon and eggs but ate worms they
fell into prosaic rhythms vigorously they
shrieked through the glass at me they
flapped my wings

and our feet planted into the ground they
moved our chest, wings, arms, stems forward. they
lifted us. a rhythmic body.