Alligators are Weaving Their Nets for Us

Like you, I am walking
toward the sun. I have no
appointment save this.
Shall we gather at the
crossroads, juncture, nexus?
When you ate my tongue,
I opened wide. Said, Tug
a little to that side.
Directions are never done.
To build the house, they slathered
homemade bricks with dung.
As you sing, I want to stare
clear down into your tunnel.
That asteroid careering toward
the planet must weigh three tons.
Don’t worry, when it hits
our atmosphere, it will only sear
the eyelids and then we will
be bathed with a slow glow,
like a lime yellow light bulb.
Like you, I want to be won
over by alligators, who are weaving
nets for when we are gone.
Sea levels creep up the brink of Oakland.
Lift, lift up your toes.
I know. I know you know I know you know.
Still, we remain, rocking the cradle of day.
Minute after minute, I thirst for pleasure.
After work, I crave fun.
Like you, I only hunger to be stunned.