the poem that won't die or fit anywhere

Frequency

You are flat and hard and distant enough for words to echo off
of. When we say the same thing at the same time the world
becomes our vibrating
champagne glass. We are Tesla's collapsing buildings,
making window frames with our fingers that break when we
want to hold
anything. I am made of cells, discrete and crystalline
and membranes that burst predictably occasionally like solar
flares. They resonate
to words like astrology victims. Hearing you or hearing myself
reflected in you, I become a thrumming million, multiple
like the grass
blades that stretch up to the little sun like tongues.