One ear to your stomach, another to the sky.
Oh to be an angel (if there were any!) & go
straight into your body & look around
& maybe kiss the back of your lips with my lips
or whisper something, softly, “You are not alone
in the galaxy, my child, belly buttons are sphinxes,
a body riddled with answers, Tibetan monks
smell like sperm, tenderness is a touch monitored
by snails & sadness: an airspace, owned by Disney”
—O if we could lean back, &, leaning, widen
our eyes like Montgomery Clift! (His eyebrows
were doubled by those of an angel, standing in him.)
The coroner, after inspecting the body, only noted
he had an innie, an innie so far in it was missing—gone.
from Christian Hawkey's
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