Whose eyes are shut in every photo

this girl gets digital privacy she hunts

alone rolling absence down stairs and

cleaning up after the spiders and

strafing the countryside with accidental

content and skyscraper pearls

under the counter-surveillance duvet

her many arms larval stamp with wants

can you hear the radishes roll around

in the darkness of the net

needs that don’t transmit via email

we’d like to get her into odd job securities

like laser hair or liquid heirlooms or

esotropia futures or ergonomic harp stools

we’d like her to ignite whatever meadow she

wants we’ll be calling if she hasn’t

figured out how her rainbows

hunt on two point million hectares

we fear someday someone’s going to

run the sun out of her and she’ll write

that dream will haunt us all down