_object { –ions in the mirror
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testosterone funny blanket
ripped sheets and new years
origami weathervane
mutational excerpts for cash
cornbread is your birthday;
your birthday, she is alive
with a middle name like Salvo,
you never have to bring your own
the frat boys fill your tin cup
with cigarettes, aerosols—
and meats
and call you a pretty taxicab
to take you pretend home
no knees are good knees;
no prayer is prayer enough
I saved the last sentence for you—
you, crawling on your bad knees
trying to make sense of the sense
you left bragging in the hallway
a microscopic orgasm;
a see-through, a piñata
light fuse and back away
are closer than they appear
