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werewolf
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These days wear upon me like costumes.
I see the beautiful house on the hill and know it is the mansion my brilliance will one day procure,
my papers kept in a den.
I see the beautiful woman walking down the street who I will throw it all away for.
In that car passing, is that my child?
If so then that must be my wife handing him his cleats, pulling him to soccer practice, both thinking, "for the other's sake"
Two gay men are kissing. How do i know i'm not gay? One of them is an older Asian man. How do i know i'm not an older Asian man?
And yes i'd be the bike courier who gambles with unclean needles, if i could feel that wind through my hair.
and i'd spend the night as that prostitute who can't write christmas cards home to mother.
and my face in its stillness has a smile you'd love, and one you'd hate,
scars, a softness, voices of my friends,
there are rivers of fire and ice there,
a traffic jam under clear blue skies.
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031215
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