With a few students in front of me
wearing their masks made of
plastic and with
me in front of me
wearing my mask
made from plastic
I accept the ways in
which my life is
unexpected
I can still sit
out in the sun
in the nude
and let the worms
fight over my feet
I bury myself in
owl feathers and
bacon fat and
let the sun roll in;
I always oblige,
like the town fool
pointing his penis
at all the passersby
The state of Oregon sent me
a test kit in the mail to
check my antibodies for
the fucking plague
they gave me clear instructions
to wipe my finger first
and tape the paper with
the circles to the edge of the table
to take the small tool with
the smaller blade and press it
against my middle finger,
to cut myself with purpose
to milk my middle finger
of boiling blood, utterly
painting the page with
pink polka-dots
Now I have bleed on paper before
but mostly in a figurative sense
and maybe into the toilet variety
after a shaving mishap
never have I cut myself
on purpose to milk my
middle finger onto paper
with tiny tools provided by the state
So to end this, once and for all,
I take a kitchen cleaver for bone
and lop off my left hand to set it
aside - I milk my arm on this page
for you to swim in,
in pink polka-dot pools
in the summer sun for
likes on Instagram.
I've spent so much of my life in pain,
wondering when I'll feel at home again
I used to dance, you know, to dance
like I had wings, like my movements
meddled me with the air
and every moment a new cloud
appeared for me to dance on
like stairs, airstairs
like who-cares stairs
take off, shoes off
nothing but life in motion
and now, now, even to
remember that takes labor,
to lean over in this chair
with this body, that body
here, takes work
so many incarnations of that child
have peeled through this skin
he died when I stopped moving
and I grieve in pity and pain
In essence, nothing has kept you away from me
waiting in the closet with the door left ajar
in the attic, with your head in the corner
under the play-table, where you still think
I'm counting to come find you
come find me, come find me
and I will count to twenty
and that counting stopped
four months ago, and still
you wait, holding still
waiting to come to life again
for when I find you
for when I find you,
I will pick you up in my arms
and swirl you out
your legs straight and your
toes pointed
I will spin you the way a
daddy does and we
will laugh and giggle
and you will ask me
"what took you so long?"
and I will say
You had the perfect hiding spot.
