in the evening, i drag myself
out of god’s deathbed.
            ask, did u love ur mother 

enough to imagine her? do i still exist irl? 
& tell my mom to pls stop calling me
             a child in her prayers. he says, woman, 

with a violence that, 7 yrs later, in the changing
room at Bridal Dream i will still see: the ribs poking
            out as if to make another human being

from myself. i walk again, the zinc
            streets of his acne
chest, after dark & in those blue stilettos

of my fingertips. there’s a field
            4 this kind of thing: even his hip –
a seizure in mine.

O, home-made boyship,
            wyd? it’s dark here,
read the room. y the mouth

full of rain, hänsel?
            y the crouton
in the birdbath?

sb was me yesterday.
            felt all the things
& brought nothing home.

here’s a fact,
            without reason
to believe it:

u are both, comet & dinosaur.
            Some ppl don’t believe in evolution, u know.
s/w (on youtube)

i looked for glue
& paper. held my arms
            to my hips like a screw clamp.

my laptop on the laundry
basket, a video
            on how to twerk full screen

as if for the light
to outgrow darkness lol. i can't dance
            to save my life

& i can’t expect much from air.
i prayed, God, this ass
would look so fine if it could twerk,
& God, this body would feel so good if i felt it.