In a land where you will go but from where you will never return,
Little Black Cricket, you’ll follow music inside a mountain 
with the other children. Then the rock will be sealed

I took the skin of my twin for a jacket,
pulled it along my legs as stockinettes,
pocketed its bones and fat in my side

Biggest fish I will ever see,
men caught you
and hung your death

Cultivating people can be arduous, 
With results as uncertain as weather. 
Try oysters, meerkats, turnips, mice. 

Ate stew, shot a man,
Bandy body spraddled, so full of lead 
Cabron can’t even walk uphill. 

Honest-to-god color, god said, for artists. 
But first, graveyards, to grind the human femur 
in secret, for bone black. And cuttlefish 

I woke up thinking abouy my brothr’s body. 
That q That was my first bit of early morning typing 
So the first dignity, it turns out, is to get the spelling right.

on Greenwich Avenue 
staring down Jane Street 
into the sunset 

The radiation machine
didn’t hum. The lights in the room dimmed.

Rads went through my chest
without a word.

A pity the selfsame vehicle that spirits me away from 
factories of tedium should likewise serve to drag 
me backwards into panic, or that panic should erect