The world is on fire and I have something to sell. I’d like to sell you the world. It’s on fire. It is. But you should buy it — not because it’s safe, but because the economy (that’s the end of that sentence. Because the economy.) _____________________ Have you been economical with your words? With your worries? Have your worries been eco-centric or ego-centric? I would like to sell you an ego. No — a biome. Take a look around. Lots to see. Let me know if you have any questions. Let me know if your questions have teeth. Let me know if your teeth are chattering. Or, if you do not have teeth, if you’d like some! Actually — I’d like your teeth. What would you like in exchange? I only have the world. I don’t carry exact change. I carry inexact change. I carry messes going back generations, gentlemen callers with questions — They check the teeth to make sure the horse is healthy. You can tell a lot about a horse from its teeth. How old it is. If it’s broken to the bit. Some horses have wolf teeth. Some are wind suckers or crib biters. Check — does the horse have ash in its mouth? Can it afford next month’s rent? The horse is sitting on a stack of photos. It hasn’t made the bed that broke its back. The horse’s mouth is a bed for breaking. Hearts. Records. Bread. Hooves no good with dirty dishes, grimed through the open window by the whole world burning outside. Didn’t you close the window last night? No matter. Throw it open now. Lasso the morning. Breathe the smoke. Wash your flank clean. I want to sell you a world on fire. Call this, love. Love, the ash you carry in your mouth. A bed for everything that’s broken.
