Crematorium

In it I sweep, nude,
the floor in the dark.

Somewhere
off
I hear the sound of earth
sliding into earth

the ice caps turning to water
the soap in its cement dish, the tortoise
on her island.

My parts are worms reaching for the sun.

My brain is a limited
something
to consent to it,
between it and I, something simple--

I watch it in a shed
like a punished child smashing his chair,
a punished, violent idiot;

I think this is the engine, though,

A block of coal
on the rim of the tub.

How did it get here?
Could it possibly spin like
that
Forever?

The farmer cleans soot from her eyes daily

the days do not end
the days
the days
what are they?

They came up out of the pipes, from in between
the roots, from in the grave tunnels, from
in between my toes,
from the Tundra of Siberia, Greenland,
from my dead father’s eyes,
from the dust
of an elephant’s funeral procession,
from the internet, how
many Colossuses
can there be?
they bubble in the kitchens,
grind words onto the walls of jails,
fire machine guns,
carry E-coli,
take pictures of the sun rotating around us.

broken fire
limps into time’s future

Forgets what was once called
itself

It went to bed
It fell into the hole