i steal everything not nailed down in their
shrinking rooms and
graft lifted phrases onto my hunched and shambling
body; i live
in your black shoe like a foot; i
watch the leaves
fall from red to brown from my air-conditioned
tomb; i read
in every word of theirs a challenge to
prove my worth
by walking fifteen paces away and spinning back
around to face
them with pistol drawn; i learned how to
be this way
by watching you build your great engine with
my tongue stuck
in my jaw; i hear a greater one
on the wind
come to shackle my limbs and drag me
through the gray
streets; i know they see through the straw
armor i cower
in without a word left hovering in the
dusty air; i
know that you desire for me to drive
a stake into
my fat black heart for failing you despite
the grand castle
of words you build for me; i know
that it is
only a matter of time before the last
fig is ripped
from the tree and crushed under the same
slick boot that
will wordlessly stomp out my meager flame for
the grave crime
of being what is rather than what is
wanted;