shadow bruise 

i am bleeding in the sense that
i no longer believe in elephants.
my father & i used to sit
& feed peanuts to squirrels
in the park. some of them had 
tracking devices. do i think the government
has a list of transgender people? yes.
do i think i am on that list? also yes.
i live to make old white men terrified
but then sometimes i get home
& my shadow is swollen with fear.
i stroke her head & say, "we are not
alive. not anymore." to be a ghost
is to be decided for. you will not
eat figs from a tree grown by your grandfather.
you will count pennies in the front seat
of your car for a toll. highways 
like ribbons tying my hands behind my back.
the question is not whether or not
you get tied up--it's whether or not
the tying is in a sexy way or inevitable way.
maybe there is some overlap. when i find myself
in the bedroom all i see are shadows
eggplant purple & bruising all across the floor.
i've had so many lovers who turned
the lights off. a thumb. a hand. dark dark
dark. now, we fuck by lamp glow. 
our shadows are fed lavender &
queen anne's lace. don't tell me there are
elephants. i have seen the world & it is
a bar of soap. i carry a pocket knife 
of all my grief. do not listen to me.
my heart is a peanut i should have fed
to the squirrels. salted. tiny buttons of sweet.
my father was a spy too or maybe i was.
collusion is a resting state. i carry my shadows
to the forest & we stand there. hear
loud car engines from the nearby road.
boys laughing & pissing in the creek.
is there no where to skin yourself alive?