Child On Top of a Glass House

Somehow this kid gets into your house and rather than steal all your stuff in one shot he is running some kind of psychological project and follows you everywhere puncturing cans sticking his hands in the mower you even catch him sneaking into your planetarium pockets full of stones and he says he mistook it for a green house which he assures you also has a fancy name ending in -arium and can’t he please shatter the stars and you’re just going to say that none of it’s real that nothing could grow here that space is so cold a drop of blood will explode when you see your key hanging from his neck and that’s how he gets in the house and eats all the bread and you reach out to snatch it and what stops you are these incredible meteors showering down like someone has broken the stars and could it be this sour-milk-smelling kid now climbing onto the glass roof who you follow though the symbolic flowers shake their symbolic heads and say remember you have vertigo and you say “what the f” but the kid looks at that ambiguous letter “f” on your lips and with giant Saturnian eyes says, Father? And you freeze afraid your word will become his word instead of “fuck” which landed you here in the first place and you remember a time when nothing was made of glass and oh look someone is down inside this glass house and they’re young and they’re watering the garden like mad and you kneel down and weep and yell get out while you can and this kid laughs and hops on one foot and says do it again—do it again.