a list of things i want to break

place your right hand on the bible
& state your name. my mouth fills with
sand: open to a court room floor--
you hourglass you-- you time pouring ghost.
row on row of seat with bodies: 
assembly-line me-- don't trust the stones--
they're rotting from the inside out.
the metal detector goes wild on me--
sees all the spoons under my skin &
the letter opener lodged in my spine
from that time you mailed me a mouth.
i open my lips again & think time 
the only thing that comes out our the names.
there's a list written up my esophagus of 
every trans person who went supernova 
this year. the street uses their clothing
for quilts-- sequin squares & cashmere
parallelograms. there's fabric born
sometimes out of grief. i tell the judge about
the time i opened a jar of raspberry jam
& all the words came out-- the glass
tongue flicking, shouting:
they're sick, disgusting, how can we 
legitimize a mental illness? 
there's 2 gender 2 genders 2 genders
& i didn't cover it-- i let it keep
talking until it's voice echoed in
the kitchen. i stood naked in the mirror
& took the silver scissors to my body--
the pieces of felt drifting to the bathroom 
floor. wash the soul down the sink if
it refuses to take. i tell you
i find comfort in churches but i don't
tell you that sometimes i wake up
in them-- on the altar, empty. i look
up at the skylights & birds smack--
trying to shatter the window. a cardinal
a blue jay. a swallow. there is no priest
only the laughing of the baptismal foundation.
the shower is hot & i leave the curtain open
so that i can watch the mirror slowly
fogging over. when the mist clears there
is no reflection. i want to tell you that
court houses are made of wooden blocks
i want to tell you that your body is your
& yours alone. there are certain locations
that make real our own smallness. i tear
the pages out of an old bible. only,
they grow back so i take the book
to the shower, open the pages. ink drip
down to my elbows. what is it god what 
is it god? what could he know about water?