i am used to strange looks
but today a man whirled around on me
when he heard me running at him
from behind
i was not running from anything
it was exercise, like most mornings
i hope that i did not trigger something
deep, that i did not fuel his night terrors
that i did not brand twitches in his eyes
all i could muster was “jeez,
relax man”
i am used to strange looks
under the ropy tautness of muscle is tendon
under tendon is bone, under skin
is where i like to be, i think i am so uncomfortable
that making comfortable people uncomfortable
fills me with grim joy
but i don’t mean to scare anyone
no, at least not if they don’t deserve it
and maybe i deserve to be scared
i am scared
i am taut, like rope
i am rope that hangs in the sun
(it bleaches and frays)
hang-dry, it becomes crisp
to the touch
that used to bother me
as a kid, but now i notice
that the dryer destroys all
my clothes, and that is why
they are soft
i am tender, yes even now
i am mundane and tender
i am mutilated and clean
on the street, there are men with haunted eyes
and shallow steps, and grimy clothes, and open wounds
this morning, i scared one of them shitless
perhaps he was scared because i chose to be outside
in the ten a.m. 90° heat
and that is insane
that is such a crisp line of delineation: choosing to be outside
i love/lines construct me
divine and obvious, as are all cherishables
i am the golden altar of civilization; i am the leaf of graphed culture
i am the failure of a thousand souls on the street and in cars and in motels
honestly, i feel like the forward slash in violin motion,
crescendo, slur
divisions, tessellated rent paid slump overcome
i don’t smoke meth anymore. i don’t drink whiskey. i don’t sleep on
couches.
i own a suit, and three ties. i scare strange men on the street when i
do not give
adequate warning of my approach (§1).
i am unused to affection, and i must knock the rust off my kindness,
i think
