in a costume closet full of dresses 

i picked the white one:
layers of frill
doilies kissing each other
the gills of a communion wafer
filtering out dust
collar like a dinner place-mat
i hung forks from my ears
& bit a knife in my mouth.
i was young
high school 
didn't know better.
no one told me.
the fins of a cloud shark
steam turned fabric
cauliflower sliced impossibly thin.
i walked around all that year
pretending my face was
a slab of meat loaf
bread crumbs mushed under skin
& ketchup in veins--
this kind of dress 
was made for a play no one remembers
this kind of dress follows you 
for years after you touch it.
talks to you in lists of small pure objects:
cork, thimble, glue, pillow case
even now a week from my 
23rd birthday i see the dress
from time to time,
folding itself carefully
beneath a layer of shirts in my drawer
or standing tall 
from a hanger in the closet
it just wants to be touched
but it's contagious
i have to put it on
go all the way in--
escape into that hallway 
of luster--
pretend my body is food
swaddled in tissue paper: 
angel food cake 
white chiffon
meringue peaks.
i walk around the house at night like this
where no one else can see
a boy in a white dress asking
to be eaten.
the bugs come out & i tell them 
to be gentle--
to take what they must just
don't let me watch.
i put my hand over my eyes.
last night i told all my friends
that one morning they'll wake up 
& find me completely devoured.