Back straight, straight, we can
be beautiful together. What are
the sociological ramifications
of teenagers who drink amnesia
in deserted parks? I chewed sidewalk
for you. I tell people my acne
is sunspots.

I stand with crooked vertebrae
and think (stars are track marks,
freckles on the back of
my neck) of everything but how
the sun bends me like
a shadow puppet, and I am
trapped in this shifting cave of a person
and I fell in love with
a streetlight because it
didn't love me back and
I want to itch my skin off
sometimes, because depression is
a kind of fire too. But all I do is
pick these chunks of gravel
out of my mouth and
fling them at moonbeams,
and ride the subway because
I love to shake, I want to hollow
out my cheeks and stuff them
with everything, everything, everything