Twelve Bones of Architecture

Daddy’s home, dog, you can take that dump
in the middle of the floor now. And cat,
please, a hairball would be nice. Kitchen sink
—my life would be incomplete without
a constant drip. There you go. That’s nice.
Oven: grow cold. I insist. And fridge,
you grow warm. Yes. Reading glasses—
you’re already lost… Shoes: scuff
your soles slick in the closet,
no one’s looking. Car: rub your tires
bald in the middle of the night.
It’s okay.You’re nervous. We’re all nervous.
House: shed your paint at your own safe rate
of dissolve. Roof: I see you up there—
dying to fly away—might as well,
this whole show’s going to hell.