Nobody's Hungry

I creep out
the oven,

my skin
like tulips

before
it's even spring.

The deer
is poking out

of my spinal cord.

One eye
out the crust-layer.

The ceiling
animals

really pop
my cork.

I 180 out
of my eye rocketry.

This is not my
body banging

at the little window.

I lost my intuition

to the skeletal system.