Is contagion wishing’s history?
I wish a hole in memory
Accidentally, by remembering,
Then swish a thumb around its cliff
And bring it to my puppet’s mouth.
The disease he eats tastes good,
I think, because his wood glows
When he’s finished.
Let’s name nature the final arbiter
Of taste. Let’s call memory the wish’s cliff.
Let’s name the puppet history, or else
Let’s let that mean the puppet’s mouth.