Exporting your personality for a Russian dialogue

between a four year old otter and a sasquatch
Lou Barlow plays the seven flutes over your supper
we are preparing for bed and Lou asks, “how much”
he did not deliver the steadfast gallantry that all expected
just a dust mite beneath the space in between the walls
the gutter is shallow and smooth and shouts at us to win
I took Lou’s hand and we went to the kitchen hall
we made ham sandwiches and listened to Marissa Nadler
“I’ll always be in love with you” played in the archipelago
the light, the soft scans of sight, given over to our mothers
in the background there is a WEDO matriarchy revising the U.S.
and here we come from the lake, like a platonic Detroit
where is the weight of a rainbow on the brows of God’s angels
passive and chocking on a reef where the darlings sing
I believe someone stole his sight, someone from Enterprise
how cushioned and red you are Theo, you must mask the last room
just a Spanish doctor counting all the freight that we have in the kiln
like we were lost children in the mass explosion of capital
victims of the silent parade, they were all laughing and marching
but we could not hear a word, not a sound in this probable scare
we are near now, near the door bearing down its weight on the plume
try to wreck your way past the express lane where they all landed fine
and hollow out your tree companion orchids, with lids that did not escape
the butterfly or the carving milk angel lassoed at your rings
forgiving you for ignoring Him even though He has a lot to say