The 4 Things I’d Do

1.

if I could, I’d loan day-
light my teeth and teach
it something human

what it is to eat
without a dollar.

2.

I’d fingerprint the
clouds with a nose-
bleed, and stain

every frozen side-
walk back to life.

3.

I’d warm what-
ever nowhere
passed through

my neighbor’s
ordinary lips.

4.

I’d mutate
and cry like a body-
guard for all the nights

I’ve let loose.

Missing Letter

my blue compass works barely. I need emergencies to get fluent. an attack of
birds, blackbirds. because it’s only when I’m at the bones of something, that I
grow contours. risking my arm saves my legs, my neck.

I’m begging beyond. all this consumed distance means I’m about to meet my
hostages. I see them like tiny houses I’ll never enter. their lamps burn fragile
messages of their survival. my wrist, my ribs, my waist.

touch me, I say.
and although it’s no apology
I repeat it like one.

–

my blue compass works barely. I test it against a green tree. this world, I think,
but I’m the only aftermath here. my feet, my elbows, my collarbone. another
year without love.

funny, trying to court an eclipse. it’s funeral traffic, half-prayers to fill the waiting.
meanwhile I sniff necessity’s quiet powders out of an envelope. I get by. soon
I’ll leave my metabolism at your doorstep.

but I should have written
to you, I should have just
written to you.