BODY SHEDDING ITS OWN BODYI’ve been running along the outskirts of Akron searching for a place to put all of this body feeling like I’m just a broken brake pedal can’t stop thinking about how my father is made of gasoline you should see how he makes everything burn like our hardwood floors my mother ’s tongue the glass coffee tables clocks set 35 years backwards beige love seats deflated pillows porcelain cups my skin keeps glowing a bright ember listen to the way the fire cracks then sizzles listen sometimes there’s nothing you can do but strip to bone so that there’s nothing more to burn. KEEP CLEAR OF ME: I AM MANEUVERING WITH DIFFICULTY
**Title and some lines of the poem “Keep Clear of Me: I am Maneuvering with Difficulty” taken from the children’s book Alpha, Bravo, Charlie: The Complete Book of Nautical Codes by Sara Gillingham** ✱✱✱ 
constructivism is an obsessable task, sometimes i wish i were none of it at all i hate to classify things as bad or good but how does the dark become something entirely different in the same space? are they similar? are we? particles dusted off, painted anew by some glassy-eyed god or something i want to feel my skin rip off because how do you get hurt so bad and it stay intact? just because i want to feel myself burn doesn’t mean i want to see it too ✱✱✱ 
night is yawning, asking dawn to take over, only i want to stay a little longer, sitting outside beside you. we're taking in the scene together with backs up against a brick wall our knees, thighs even arms touching. the bass beat still pumps from inside, our fingers strumming in perfect time watching those ready to leave go home . other same sex couples are embracing, coming out onto the cooling street. the boys are being funny bitching by a group of glamour girls we know. we're all laughing at their camp jokes. out come the Drag Queens reaching for their designer sunglasses, whipping off their stilettos like weary models while we find out if everyone had fun. the sunrise is bouncing light yellow off the warehouse's across the road. we hear the Scene Queens talking softly dissecting the best parts of the night, while handsome androgynous girls dressed in men's wear, soft butch style, keep hoping to hold an interested stare. nearly everyone is devouring a Hot Dog or waiting in the queue by the food truck, as satisfied hands rise to hail a taxi ride. i adore this time outside gay clubs, after being out all night partying surrounded by the forged strong. these gay people, my queer kind, so, so many fought for kisses linger like hard earned victory in the air. lighting up my last Dunhill Blue enjoying all of our silly banter the dance music stops playing, see, the bouncers are even going, time to make a wonderful decision. which other home should we drive to? whose bed will be best for two? ✱✱✱ 
My mother is wearing her new turquoise jacket - a warning flare. My brother, his bedclothes. I do not remember what my father is wearing. A child throws his grandmother's voice in walkie talkie style cinema. Girls with blue hair go where you'd expect them to. Paperbacks spilling dirty words on my red shoes. A woman finds a box for me. Languidly, I uncurl - surprise lilies in the rain, the white bread days of August. In this height of splendor, I am tense. Every woman with thick bangs is you. Every Saturday without a second cup of coffee. Every wish mumbled into a snowstorm. I am a tiger, yowling in a gauze cocoon. I am waiting for the avalanche of smoke that will smother me. All this pink cannot live here. ✱✱✱
the uncertain consequence of violent waves like feeling everything all at once these discrete instances moving too quickly (see: movie frames) (see: memories) (see: blooming) cut off all your hair while we're waiting here everything is different from everything we speak in polaroids and sand each new feeling presenting itself timidly like a bud emerging through the frost you young buildings with your opalescent fish scales you sky with your never-ending potential ✱✱✱ 
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