I Fade to Starry Ashes

My dreams are mouths and bursts.
Small tornadoes inside the dollhouse.
One leaf of tea; the world’s lost sky.
Storms from the sleep of children.

Fountains throw minor gods into space.
The mirror’s voice, my mother’s trace.
Their teeth are stony pets in a key.
Like eyes made of cages. Night.

Because of their trigger, an egg.
Bullets fill with birds, with ships.
We cross between the night and forever.
Nothing happens. Nothing emits gasses.

All the holy urgencies of my mouth’s things.
The dolls eat their dogs as the sun crumbles.
Inside her pocket, sex will kill you.
The web conflates and flashes.