4/1

x marks the spot

where my bones are anterling
in their nests. here is where
tonight we dig like moles
searching again for the deep & dark.
underneath every designation
is another & another. i put xs
on the sun & xs on my father's back
& xs at the back of my throat.
here is where the treasure 
is a gasp of plums. sugaring 
a street of pineapple promise rings.
i burry everything that i'm scared
to lose. telling a whole year
"get into the hole." all my glasses
shot in the foot. i am not 
the map maker. that is someone else's
coping. coasters were meant 
to unbecome. the jaws of a great fish.
most of the time there is nothing
on the other side of an x.
sometimes it is better to stand
from a distance & say 
maybe maybe maybe this time 
an angel will come & unearth me
exactly as i am. i want to delve
just to find i was always so good. 
the distance between who marks 
& who find the mark & who lives the mark.
xs grow around me like dandelions.
bloom is a word only for boys now.
i buy a trowel & live inside it
while my father holds the handle.
he says, "son" & i turn. he is
not speaking to me. i draw
another x. this time i am deliberiate.
the cave is empty is empty 
is empty & always was. 

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