i'm gonna teach you
to breathe
to breathe

in that hospital bed,
in that hollow log
of daisies and sleep.

i'm gonna teach you
to breathe
on that kitchen floor.

our knees are always touching
and you always leave me

wishing that there was more
time, that there were more stars.

well i guess infinity
isn't enough for some people.
(some people like you.)

i'm gonna teach you
to breathe
like an infant
with a hole in its heart

takes its first breath
through a turkey baster.

they did in my mothers arms.

they died
in my mother's arms

and now you weep in german
for all the accidents and missed psalms.

stop poking little needles
through your body
for chrissakes.

the silver spoon
that came in your mouth
slipped under your bones

and made your back arch
on your warm living room carpet
in front of the glass door,

in front of all the suburban glass houses
full of vases with white stones.

their whispers about you
slip through in the pebblespaces.

i'm gonna teach you
to breathe
to breathe

in that hospital bed,
in that hollow log
of daisies and pills
for your aches and pains,

for the holes in your soul
(located somewhere beneath
your solar plexus but above
where hiccups are made)

and on the white sheets
your knee brushes mine

and it is
infinity

and it is
enough.