iv.
when
I was nine
I
had an existential crisis
on
a mountain
orange
onyx
oh
I
couldn’t figure out
how
to spell my own name
my
father told me to count sheep in the city.
one
two three four canteloupe raisin firetruck hole
my
teeth tried to talk to me
I
told them to stop.
v.
you
foolish fucking finger
go
back to sleep
keep
dreaming of the day
when
you were webbed
when
you could do more
than
simply dangle
at
my side
navy
quarter
pillow
the
precipice of possibility
was
yours, and you emerged
broken
vi.
joe’s
carpet
is
neon
pink
ugly
orange
he
lies on it
he
is a shadow
he
rises
he
is joe
i
lie on it
i
do not rise
v.
clouds
bloom
in
the toilet
water
a
fish is
dead
gutted
red
red
red
my
finger is
a
fish
it’s
fins
of
skin
flap
sadly
at
its
side
vi.
in
the night
yellow
looks brighter
like
cat eyes
or
burning flourescence
nine
lives
like
filaments
quivering
as
I
walk
down
the
gum-stained
block
people
snigger
and
I tell them
gold
key
beer
bottle
knife
fuck
off
v.
two
fingers
face
off
in
the
palm
of
my hand
they
roll
and
it is
comical
one
so much stronger
than
the other
one
so much greater
than
the rest
its
wrinkles
speak
of its
allegiance
to my
hand
wait
two years
tiny
finger
and
then
maybe
you will
see
or
maybe
not
vi.
cream
moon
sole
she
talks
about
a woman
perfect
in death
like
marble
stone
bone
bruises
sapped
of
color
she
speaks
of
the
death
i’d
see in
your
eyes
on
the subway
round
and hard
like
an angry
stone
v.
black
white
black
my
finger
is
as
dark
as
the earth
beneath
my
fathers
bare
feet
and
the stones
thrown
sharp
and
the
night
the
tip of it
splits
open
and
another finger
rises
like
the
moon
the
third
finger
wavers
in
the middle
forgotten
vi.
to
get married
is
to share a bed
to
sleep
together
to
have a hand
is
for two fingers
to
stand together day
after
day
can
I get another hand with this?
vii.
you
suck the
skin
off of my finger
like
the skin
of
a grape
the
pulpy flesh
towers
dotted
with
seeds
the
three ways
to
see
this
tower of seeds
green
blue
naked
viii.
my
knuckle
hangs
its head
in
shame
shakes
its
head
in sad
acceptance
of
this world
in
which
there
is a snail
in
the sole
of
my shoe
