It's the kind of
                 burn that
            sits                  waits
                 softly tearing
        at your
flesh
breaking
         a p a r t
tangles
of nerves
squeezingyour
sinking
                         lungs.
                             cornering a
                                  croaking   h e  a r  t.


back me into a
corner just to feel
warmth from my flame.

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?

when birds begin to
lose feathers
they sit
in red
they wallow in home
in nettles
and leaves
and hair from brushes

they bathe in
bones
and rosewater

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.

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

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

On those nights
That I dare
Sleep alone
I toss
Until my
Feet tangle
In my hair
My back bone
My wind earth
Air
Just missing
The fire
That once
Lay there