I can crook and sparkle my eye to show you your light bulbs–the ones that fizz and crackle, the ones you ignore–you’ve grown accustomed to the buzz buzz of their hum like fluorescent lights that are always left on.
I can pluck your chain from the jellied glass you store it in and give it a little yank, a peck-on-the-cheek sort of howdy doody and wake you up! A blink on the brink of full-throated lion’s yawn so you can see and feel the warm sinew of your own legs, flex hide like plush towels gathered and tucked to hold you, to dry you.
I can introduce you to yourself.
Extend hand extend arm extend claw extend tongue,
tentacled reaching toward your inchworm laugh-lines I can raise the curtain on your sunbright teeth and extend your reach
with my fancy footstool