eric reads a poem

i can feel it when i’m talking to you

the worms like factory workers
underground
the planes full of people
passing over like birds
friends kissing each other
getting into cars and leaving
coming back
always
even if i were dead
my body a factory
for worms to work in
i am practicing
to become a payphone
outdated and full of
quarters.
time infinite and nothing
all at once and i know of
nothing more beautiful
but for now
your heart is a 6-year old’s
birthday party
your mouth is a bed of flowers
covered in snow.