drum

call me when you become a room.
when you stretch the skin tight enough
to yell. i promise i will help you.
my uncle had a drum that hung
on the wall of his patchwork side of the house.
premiered walls. a hole he punched
when he was full of whiskey. alone there
i would drum while he was at work 
at the battery factory. lead blood.
lead soul. i come from a long like
of heavy men. men who sink in the bath tub.
men he feed sharks with their hands.
the drum drummed me. the drum 
took up my parent's house. i sometimes
escaped with the drum & we both
turned into men. it was terrifying. it was red.
then when i put the drum down 
i felt dizzy. time travel is actually very mundane.
the drum always landed me inside
an acorn's dreams but once i was 
the memory of lady bugs as they crawled
through the walls of the house. 
a nest is a place without a drum. i promise
myself i will never purchase one.
like tarot cards, your gender is 
something gifted. here is your drum.
here is your throat. beat it until
everyone comes home. the living
& the dead & the in-between. 
there is not much to do when the world is
too loud to think. i am telling you though.
i will be there with a shoe full of candy. i will
hold your hand & wait for you to transition. 
i vibrate with you. i open all the windows
so your face doesn't get trapped 
like mine did inside the hunger 
of a palm. a half-broken plate. 
the bell tower chiming. it is time candles.
it is time for dust.