is it plugged in

when i was done with death

i got up and sailed to the sea

where there are bodies still not found

still moving among the dead channels

that will power televisions one day

with laughter of a family fit into a couch

till a green arm that knows no better after

selecting a particular sofa and

coming to touch

softer hair than its own from bears

and the occasional deer

like hers

though she was caught in between puberty

before him

and did not know that these fields on flesh

were supposed to be unwanted and shaven to pulps

like the mossed, lost arm

that has stopped the flow of the generator

that is still still with the same possibility

of mine writing every little tombstone

that is far too heavy to carry

that is carried too far

that is that is that is

starting again

before the finish

with an explanation that

this too is how you’ll die

with the music still in your ear

but the lyrics never quite mouthed

for maybe there was too much wind

or perhaps

not enough

to create the waves

that might be beautiful enough

to televise