Rumen

Without boundary we limp in sync to parables
of rice, readiness, the right kind of plastic

Concealed in the frame are justices
tables molded by hand
and the racks of the oven remain scalding for profit
far past the carcass's coda

sitting near you angry
the night tadpoles singing
in the mood
you perforated to give the tear the appearance of 'I meant to'

cobalt, lithium, copper
prying the fight to the elements

this idea of romance without consent is flush baby your wounds are just like mine
traveling the rumen to the stitching