some people have battle plans
others have battle cries

I mostly have

dreams of two wet hands
wrangling the  
dumb flesh of fish bodies
from the church of Youth
the child warriors
wanting to hide in
our pictures
I’m only a spy of the soul
infiltrating the office
with my lines of paint and type

hiding behind a curtain of hair
and a coffee cup
in the elevator
praying the ties and heels won’t
ask me
about the weather or how my morning
is going

the clock-
captor, friend
my right eye is forever dedicated
my window faces only the broken
face of a letdown building
where no one shifts
only owning the hallow
just a mirror of my grey skin
the fluorescent buzzes

I’m waiting for the sky to fall

drawing it out on
stolen stationary
passing the time
only it’s passing me
eventually it’s all headaches
and the non-flavor of used
gum
(I chewed it too long again)

I have a tiny whole
carved into the wall
and I’ve been leaving S.O.S in bottles
and my bed sheet ladder
is nearly reaching
the lawn
and beyond that
I know I can finally be the animal
I’ve always dreamt of being

I think I’ll **** on every heel
and tie I see.