the mole king

the rent's not paid! always the fifth
rolls in tidal, soaks the shoes
by the blanket you forgot
 when you decided
to take a walk. like the checkbook
did for a month as soon as
last month's rent was written but
 you finally find it
again late at night on the last day
before the late fee kicks in.
it was out partying- it's covered with
6.0223  X 10 ^23 grains of sand
  clogging the cheap bic pen
  found on the car's floor so you can't
  fill out the check so you can
have a place to lay your head
a place to  finish the day,
 a place  you could call castle    
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       
there is a space between your shoulder
blades begging to be pried. fingers roll
over hard ridges, humvee wheels in the desert.
back and forth, they pile pressure on knotty
ropes, baked earth, tense with pockets of air
where water dried out.  bones shift, poke
from the curved line of your back, pulling
against the force that keeps you locked
in a parabola above the ground. a crack
produces a sigh, the curious world tilts.

once you begged for cranky security
from the road, with a sign. now
 you don't talk so proud-
between bed and breakfast is a tunnel
you can't seep out of, no matter
how many molecules you fit on a spoon.









k