a window
with finger prints
and nose prints
from kids who
press their faces
to glass
and write novels
in the condensation
that collects
from your display
your body
their home
the place
the endless
question and answer
they want to know
your anatomy
your brain
they want to pick at it
like the three
day old scab
that sits just above
your brow
from being
attacked while
walking home from
the bar

but no!
oh god no!
they don't care about that.
they care about
whether or not you'll keep your *******.
as if they are their ******* to decide
they complain you're unnatural
they complain
that god made you this way

What I want to know
is where the
     *******
in the bible
does it say your body is a
                                             cage?

I know a man
who sleeps
with a chiquita
box
as a pillow
on auburn avenue
every day I pass him
at 11:00 alseep
in a nook
of the city
and sometimes
for a second
I think about
bringing him
food
or water
but
I tell myself
tomorrow

now I pass that building
his pillow
and blanket gone
and a hipster
juice store sign
is being pasted
on the window

I light
a cigarette
and smoke
one
I do not stop
and wait
for tomorrow

this gnawing
under my skin
to spend $400
on a one way
is driving me
nuts.

this morning
i tasted
purple and white
as the sun rose
and i watched
a coworker
pour 4
sugar packets
into their coffee
by 11 my veins were pumping
yellow
and black
i was buzzing
i was electric
driving home
at 90 miles
fueling flames
and taking names

by 3 my breath
stood idle
in red
dancing around the
start
waiting
waiting
and then by 4 my eyes
turned green
in pure bliss
bending
twirling
kissing
then with your
face to her ear


by 8
i dove into blue
i dove into black
when I remembered
sometimes I feel
there aren't any bridges here
for this gap

by ten
I turned off the lights
and sat
with the wings
you gave me
in my hand.

I've wanted you ever since I learned how to want.

With a box full
of toys in your closet
and a mouthful
of love on your lips,
  you are just a boy

and there's something about your hometown
that makes me want to fill my lungs with poison,
its all awfully familiar.

Things are different now, but still the same.
     I still get random urges to kiss the top of your head.
     I still **** in my stomach when we have ***.
  but I'm more scared of losing you now

When my dad tried to teach
me how to ride a bike he said,
look at where you want to go,
look ahead,
and I still can't ride a bike, too busy
  staring at the ground.


"a lot of what floats in head comes from you, it always has been because you are me"

if i was a twig
maybe i'd be able to sleep

trunks are fussy
roots are cumbersome
and you, you are but the smallest bud
a dying breed, a life everlasting
see-saw my wood-rot rings
and make a use for me, will you?

i am nothing but oldwivestales and folk songs
with long-forgotten lyrics
and misread meanings

misdiagnosed
misused
mistaken for
missed

my mouth
is
as green
as spring
but
that's not to
say that I
only speak
in tethered
tongues
and mindless
music

that's not to say
i haven't thought
thousands of
pretty
words
and then wrote
three
empty pages

that's not to say
i've held on to
dependent ideals
like ivy on the fence

it's really not
for you to
assume

the reason your joke isn't funny
has nothing to do with "politically correct,"
a phrase you throw out in vitriolic attacks
so mismatched with my gentle
"can we not?"

you think that you're edgy
and subversive
and i am just
sensitive.
you think that you're some comedic rogue
sticking it to censorship and "the man,"
which is ironic because
every joke you make sits
right within the lines
drawn for you by a society that's been telling you
w  h a t
t o
t h i n k
since day one,
and actually by perpetuating the stereotypes and ideas
already ingrained in our culture,
you become the man,
man.

you are not an artist,
you do not create,
you are not the revolution,
and you can't fight the system
when the system is you.

now sit the **** down.