I AM A TELEPHONE CALLING A LIGHT BULB

I AM A TELEPHONE CALLING A LIGHT BULB

I am a telephone calling a light bulb.
I am not the light, I call the light.
I see the light for I am illuminated.
I have a mouth that rings.

I have nipples. The door knows knocks.
The door knows knocks by virtue of being a door.
The window shakes because of interstitial mistakes.
The window is a witness to the interstitial.
The window is a witness to the needed caulk of consciousness.

If I am always ecstatic, am I a reliable window?
If I am always ecstatic, I am a ringing telephone.
A telephone’s function is to ring, but not to ring ceaselessly.
A telephone must wait at times.

The sussurations of things are their blessed interstitial meanings.
The shaking of things lets things breathe.
Things that breathe hold life outside our assumed conception.
A telephone, for example, is soul’d.
Mechanical metaphors for an interlocking reality.
So reality can carry itself when we leave
to witness into existence groves of trees.

-Lady K