inside a dead tennis ball

i live ten year olds.
manufactor a brick wall
tall enough to never go stale.
breathing in the green
of it all. tuck knees
into chest & become 
a bowl of fingertips. sweating
like winter tongue. we run
back & forth in the fire 
of a bite. vipers clutch tails
to make collars for us.
wanting to be owned, 
we sixteen ourselves for a night.
then, all our eve shows & we eat
fruit until we're sick 
with spring time. apples 
in our adams. naked under
a layer of low-quality skin.
puncture wounds stiple
or constellation. pick your
deadly or just boy into a new sun.
the one room can be so many.
in a father's hand
a boy can be kalideoscoped.
all my fractions. two eyes
above a single heart.
three lungs above thousands
of follicals. before we played
i wore glasses
until the sun used them 
to ray-gun my eyes to dust.
darkness is its own orbit.
back to myself back to myself.
we walk the earth's mushy inside
& lose our shoes in the process.
no more flashlights for 
transsexuals. i just need
to grin. the swallowed lighter
enough to show a dead leaf's face.
no more. tossed & caught again.
panting in the rubber decampment.
all you need to know about us
is sealed away & slowly
releasing air. 

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