From far away, see gizzards.
See Stockholm commuter train and newspaper unwelcome mats by throbbed feet.
See dancer or poet or unclaimed daughter or unemployed prodigy.
See airbrushed beautiful.
See exercised appendages grow frigid from the pinch.
Move closer now.
Get in there.
Notice the tear.
The point of reference from childhood.
Notice the frugality of sound.
The desperation for audience.
Someday your lonely will rock against me and create a baby.
This baby will have teeth where arms should be.
This baby will smudge like erasable ink.
This baby will be the weight of dictionaries and have skin sutured with semi-colons.
Someday I will feel clean enough to ask you to puncture me with paper clips–
to keep me together
Someday I will offer my real resume flooded with suspended spermatozoa and handcuffed to-do lists.
Someday I will send that letter.
Someday I will find you where I left you on train track where you lifted my shirt and dripped sofrito down my throat.
Someday paralysis will be more than a frozen and closer to a communication of stillness.
Walk away from clothes.
Hug the first puddle you see.