How do you get those boots on?
I’ve never seen any straps or laces or snaps or velcro.
When did you know you could fly?
Did you fall out of a tree when you were five and missed the ground?
How does Gravity feel about this?
Does that spandex itch?
Do you wear underwear under the spandex under your underwear?
Do those cuffs rub against your forearms?
How does it feel to a lift a car?
Like a tin can?
Like a paper bag?
Like a bucket of feathers?
What it is like to look eighty stories down and know that you are safe, that you can always save yourself?
Do you have a sixth or seventh sense?
Does it ever wake you in the night?
Do you experience the blistering heat and the chilling cold?
Do you feel it in your bones like I do?
Do you want to destroy your living room when someone has lied to you like I do?
Have you ever destroyed your living room when someone has lied to you?
Does your cape get stuck in the elevator doors?
Do you ever take the elevator?
Do you ever take the remote into the kitchen during a commercial break?
Can you stay on the couch and reach all the way to the counter?
Do you wear a mask?
Does it leave those red marks like my glasses do on my nose?
Do you want **** people who are dangerous and rotten in some places on the inside with one hand?
Does evil reside in you as well?

My heart begins to
quiver, and makes a show of
my trembling hands.

I never walk through a crowd without scanning for the back of your head.

Those beautiful black strands dancing just above your shoulders 
lure me to those blades 

that you sharpen during the day and you pull out at night. 

They threaten but their beckoning is stronger. 

When I squint hard enough, I can see the magnets in your hands. 

Your fingers brushed mine enough to configure my blood to run in your direction. 

Like the river you are everywhere.

Every branch sways with your rhythm. 

You have a beautiful act. And you never revealed all of your secrets.

I am here 
and you are here
but we have disappeared.

Regret
sounds like
knees hitting carpet
faster than words can travel
through a cellphone receiver.
It looks like
a black left fender
on a brown Honda accord.
It feels like
boulders placed
between your joints.
It does not leave
until you pick it out
from between your teeth.
It is a filling meal
that leaves you unsatisfied.

You must recalibrate your scale,
convert the value of moments gone.

Wipe your shield clean,
and watch the road ahead.

Asphalt under your tires
can fill you to new depths.

And you can be light again.

cotton swabs.

iodine.

needle.

deep breath in.

deep breath out.

deep breath in.

deep breath o—.

a spark lands on my nose.

smoldering and burning.

metal is hot and loving.

rebirth is a pyrexia.

Embers under my feet.
Burning into the earth’s memory.
Scorching my way to you.

I am a flood.

Take me to a desert.

Unleash me when you are facing a drought.

I am murky,
I can soak you through.

I am teeming,
I am sure I could be heard,
splashing into the hollows of you.

A tin can,
rasping for rain.

Creak to the tune,
of the dripping from my veins.

Pouring bubbling trickling.

Come here,
basin.

Empty me.