making real

there was a man playing guitar
with an open case on the corner by
the court house where two feet away
a woman with red hair argued with a 
cop while eating handfuls of sour cream &
onion chips. the court house has marble
teeth & a paper tongue & sirens on east airy st. 
have legs; they rush by, kicking down stop
lights & a fruit cart full of mangoes. 
walking up the street i passed a corner store 
named after our lady of Guadalupe &
i prayed to her out of habit. she kicked the
moon like a c antelope rind.
they metal-detect me & pull the scissors 
out from underneath my skin. i lie & say that
i use them for arts & crafts. the police
bite the edges of their badges like oatmeal
cookies-- chew plastic gold. i was sneaking 
in the scissors to cut holes in the foundation, to preen
the buttons from the elevator walls. 
all tuesday morning keep wondering around & i don't want to
ask for directions because i'm convinced 
that this is what it's like being born. i'm wondering
what it is about this building that can make
us real-- some sort of a talisman buried deep
in the foundation? the court rooms changes places 
& sometimes suck you inside. on trial they ask me 
now why would you want to get rid of
such a pretty name & 
they call me only by my finger prints--
speaking the language printed into my thumbs
that only judges & stairways can speak. 
the atm in the basement only gives out 20s.
how much do you cost to make-real. three times
i pass a conference room where a family 
is talking to a lawyer & i make up a story
that they're also all changing their names--
trading with each other-- they're playing poker.
i take the elevator to the 9th floor,
the one above the building where god makes 
the sign of the cross on your forehead &
quarrels with you for being arrogant enough
to not think your baptism name was good enough.
i get back inside & my grandmother leans by the
buttons. she asks me 
up or down?
& i tell her i'm sorry for getting rid of
her name-- she just repeats
up or down?
i say down & i stumble out of the court house.
i had wanted you to come with me but i
wanted to make myself real. outside a woman 
takes off her heels & holds them by her side--
a man carries three brief cases & hands me one.
i ask him what the court house is doing for him
today & before i can finish he's getting chewed up
by the marble teeth. 
the man is still playing guitar & he closes
his eyes & tells me
i never go inside, no. that place is
not for me. 
he takes out his name & drops it
in the open case like a dollar bill. 
i have no name so i drop in my thumb prints
& tell him to call me no-one