He carves red barcodes on his arms
and teaches you to do the same.
On the floor swept in a tantrum,
apoplexy popping seeds,
the face of disorder.
He says you are not a person.
You are also a totem pole,
slanting under black waves.
So you decide you are not a person.
So when he chokes the grown plant,
when he halves it whole,
you shove him down.
Down to where the caul chars.
Down to where eyes peer out.