In quintessential triviality for years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.

i live with the boys now.
they don't mind that i am dirty
or leave things around the bathroom.

razorblade on the wet
counter. and the cream on prickly
black chins. he wears black shirts.
golden bottlecaps.

sand in the sink from washing our feet
and the shells and bones we picked
out of the dirt.
cold and afternoon naps.

he feeds me.  he takes me to meet
the professionals. i am not alone. he likes me.
i do not want to hurt
him, fold and lapse

into no one. but the streets
call and the moon strikes
asphalt and earth.
go out free from maps.

ah just to be no one.

nothing freer than death,
no solid ground, no spiked pines
no spired church
molecules are traps.

...



i told him i wished he was you.
you bastard.