Let’s Get Out of Here

The river is a fish
and my tongue 
is white paper
you draw
your hand on
and the sounds 
keys make
on the waist 
of a janitor
in an empty building
on the night of your birth
when the moon was
a live bird pinned 
to a girl’s chest
and the color 
of a beat-up door 
that hides a paint chipped 
life where we lick the throats
of passing trains 
and wear bright pills 
over our faces 
like ghost masks
and move the tiny ghosts 
that live in us
like dominos.