baby bunting

1.

one hundred white cars go by the bagel shop.
We strutter inside and swat down our bods for breakfast.
calm and sweet.
a knife strokes solid yellow down the warm of the bread.

the bread explodes diamonds, diamonds.
we panic ("Go gather your mother & tell her to cut the gravity up! Go ask for the inside! We want to get into the ribs!")


2.

vacuum of a body
lungs and chest squeeze up its cartilage like a sandwich.
eyes caving in.
we're conscious, but then it fades.


3.

lucklord's here,
looking gremliny.
but we can only say
sorry, sorry.