Look at me go
I am a machine made of words
there is a word for what I am
it is hereditary
the basement is on fire
there is a leak in the ceiling
our mouths are stopped up
with rubber stoppers
we are in the laboratory
we are both naked
there are hundreds of us
there is a word for what this is
the word is a statue
the statue is moving
for thousands of years
in a pine forest with black needles
that pop in the fire
the word is productive
the word is an explosion of light
the word is a tailor made gift
the gift will quench your thirst
the gift will put hair on your pelvis
the gift will fill your body with smoke
I want to go home somewhere
a mountain goat bleats
on an unreasonably small precipice
in the snow my hands
are covered in something
with my mouth I can make the sky
turn to ash in your mouth


To learn more about Martin Rock, visit his website.