I melted military men.
Small strings of smoke wither upwards thickly wanting weight.
I imagine something like that going
through the mind that wrote Wonka pulling
All this pushes down,
have to use a putty knife
to scrape it from the floor.
Whole images shatter into words broken sentences.
Or, get fat
canny more left after than came before.
At home that summer I saw her eat
a whole bag of chewy candy
while sitting on the couch mulling some things into no things.
I melted plastic men from Iwa Jima into formless puddles—
all fricatives mess
Grey s q l m n r v s,
into, as much as possible,
on top of,
chewing cement and releasing a singular and substantive string
upward. I breathed it in like memory making.
So: her fingers unwrapping my matches igniting,
candy like wax infantry men melting away
into these lines
no matter how hard I blow
they just sink, settle and stiff.