he tells us, putting back the pieces of something broken, or merely,
made loose at the seams.
members like limbs,
like these clubs I am not sure I want to pay the
dues for. times are lean and I may need
to scribble over the margins,
I may need to borrow your pen on the train.
the seams of me split
too long in the dark
with a vow that the sunglasses are for my third eye, beneath
jumbles of dirty black hair
so I still squint
and you think I am blind
but I am re-membering
the pieces (parts1,2,3)
like dogs, I have discovered
(a thin white girl kind of trick)
it is exhilarating yelling you think I’m broken, but I’m not! from my place on the curb,
curled and rolled breathing through my nose
but eventually, it has come to this (the cracked places large enough for a bowl of
I want you to see me stand up again, where you drew graffiti
now is gesso-ed.