Dropsbox

Dropsbox
by Paul Ebenkamp

Right
as you ask for it the signs in your mouth change. Unfin my ungainly aim.
In the absence of machines great and ready enough to feed
you, for a change,

the fact
that all animals owe themselves great sums of money
looking busy
enriches us all, enlarges the sphere of what is known, shines
a little light on the terror or property rights
of being in
and out of each other in mere order.

I espouse your inverted unrest. Your favorites
arrive marked in reverse. Do you savor the change
in your clothes, or will the water settle? Yes, my gloved one, I find hairs from your body in my dreams, white
as innards.
Dropsy,

of ownership and entitlement
you know so little. Soon you are going to stand
up.