A lot different
if you spread them side by side.

Sheer mouths, see the mountains,
stacked to your breast.

Each bad feeling goes into the blender.

Your middle pieces get hungry.

That is a sing-songy 
memory of bed-wetting you’re torturing there.

First it eats a plant, sniffs the mailbox, waits in the hallway.

Wants something soft, repeatable.