Walking up seventh
avenue, there is so much
plastic I hardly know what to do.
I am this kind of animal: I want
to sink my teeth into all that is yours.
I tell my friend I feel so lost
in the everyday, it’s the losing
that makes me a terror.
I will rip through a life without
looking back, I will take it all
away and change clothes
mid-sentence. In New York,
a boy dines alone, eyes
like a doe. I sit across
from him because he holds
what I want. He smells
like my childhood, so I inhale
him. No matter what I do
I will never get my father back.
