1.

you destroy old relationships 
and make new ones 

who gives a fuck 
about the path of

your father’s father or
your mother’s mother 

when you can break the line –  
sever the cords of inevitability 

you rip off the hand-me-down button down shirt
and shred the ancient suit coat to threads 

it doesn’t take a lifetime to figure out 
there’s no honesty in those limp smiles

not one bit of true knowledge 
in all of that fucking conversation 

nothing they have to leave you 
is worth wanting 

when what they call certainty 
is actually death 

sweat, agony, screaming all shoved into car trunks 
and what will fit behind broken closet doors

you make yourself disappear 
punch a hole clear through the family portrait in its frame 

they could never understand that 

you must implode into a raw bloody disaster  
if you never get to say what you actually mean 

you can’t stuff down what’s feral inside of you 

you are different 

you are rabid for the world 

so, there goes their flaming baton 
(it’s been burning for centuries) 

you’ve dropped it in the chasm 
between you and the life that was never yours
stretched and thinned by miles and years 

you have succeeded 
in making yourself opaque to them

now, you can undress 

2. 

at the bar in the village, he stands 
in a motorcycle jacket stencilled 
“Freedom and Death” across the back

he stirs slow through the crowd in
baggy camouflage pants and combat boots 

you want to touch his hair, run your fingers 
across the skin beneath his t-shirt collar 

you want to smell his neck

the night has just begun, 
but the floor is sticky already

latex and leather and thigh high boots
candle wicks burn clear liquid in glass jars

he lowers his ear to your lips but still can’t hear 

you can’t stop gazing at the steel bar pierced 
through the bridge of his nose 

that quivers when he speaks

his voice vibrates a thick spiral around you 
that you feel, more than you hear  

ice cubes melt between your tongues 
and you can be anyone tonight 

follow the girl in leopard, he smiles, and
leads you through the mass of bodies

red exit sign above the door 
glow of neon tape at your feet 

on the metal balcony – the city is cut open for you 
windows light up skyscrapers in an erratic checkerboard

you can hear each other now, but 
who needs words? 

his rough hands reach for all 
of your corners 

his body pressure 
teeters you off balance  

your stand one foot on either side of the fault line
ready for a sweet earthquake

live another life with me tonight 
you ache to say

but bite his lip instead 

in this city 
that you’ll never possess

3. 

you are on your knees –-
fallen on the ground on the sidewalk 

keys, phone, are you close to home yet

you look up and see a boarded up, graffitied storefront 
secrets of old sweat behind soaped up window panes 

a blue vinyl banner flaps from above its unlit sign 
to sell the real estate agent who dreams to sell the city’s future 

an inescapable hum in your ears 
a fog clouding your eyes 

do ocean waves tumble down on you 

no –

just the undulating treads of tires passing by
motorcycles, taxis, garbage trucks backing up 

each pinned to their own rhythms 

ambulance sirens and the couple that can’t agree on anything
but otherwise the streets are empty 

you are alone 

in this exhausted city, vacant of life 
from now until sun up  

you wander this littered wasteland 
tightrope walk the cracked white paint of crosswalks 

you don’t belong anywhere anymore — 
and you love it 

you have nothing  
and nothing has felt better

when you finally unstick your new set of keys 
in the old lock of your apartment door

you tiptoe past the roommate you don’t know 
asleep on the couch 

you make it to the bathroom, shut the door behind you,  
and turn on its harsh yellow light

you look in the mirror and don’t recognize yourself 
good riddance, you say, and I love you