DISHWASHER UTOPIA
Dismembered insects
all along the sink basin,
sludge in the caulking you’ll
never get out.
Quick inspiration
to the drawbridge knife,
you go for the sponge.
The ants escape along my arm.
I’m only just dead
to their grief. The world is
unfixable.
I dream it unhinged.
The tide is roaring in somewhere,
you’ll see it. You and your
dish towel stained with blood.
The sponge and its spear points
Makes the new world
an empty wonderland
of Formica.