hands & knees 

the clothe tunnel was crimson 
& necessary catastrophe. cut it with 
craft scissors unfit for skin
into the wall made for averting.
i craved the close & the throat way.
followed it down into the belly
of your glass. how does a boy
descend into cupboard 
without a knife in their pocket?
my knife had a mind if its own 
& carved my name in every single stair.
knee to node & hand to heiroglyph. 
the tunnel (like a trap) is promising
another field of light bulbs.
a glow like i've never heard.
the fire escape is concrete 
& not meant for kissing but 
we could if you wanted to.
under the surface i'm always
the wrong boat. the other entity 
is shaking & sending me back 
in the box i came in. so, i said
i have a tunnel & i'm going
away away for no more judgements 
& inventory. i'm going to a 
depth made of whale hearts 
& gay longing. i left my finger nails
at the door & made a halo from
dry pasta. the into is the best part.
i have no need for the actual elsewhere
just give me the widest passage
& i can learn home in that crossing.
hampster tube from gender to gender.
run my hands across the wall.
a pipe is a system of arrival 
& i intend to misuse it for dwelling.
sew covers to mimic dead ends.
i live between over & almost.
feathers blow past one day 
& i grasp one. tastes like
truth serum & i confess to
wanting a bed frame & a bird cage. 
just the frame. just the cage.
i can feel my whole family watching tv
& having very little thoughts about it.
if only they had a tunnel 
like mine where only 
rats have CD players 
& only i am headed towards
a stoplight. clean the tunnel.
keep it company. one day it'll 
cough me up in a hydrangea bush.
the butterflies will be bigger
than my head & we'll drink
red licorice milk & weep.  

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