to find a boy

i go outside to find a boy made of corn
but it is too early in the season.
instead i find one made of grass
& one made of cattails. the story goes that
your boyhood is something flammable.
to be dried out in the sun. i put dimes 
in my eye sockets. see all the places 
money is calling us to hide our eggs. 
in the yard we talk about how 
europeans keep their eggs 
on the counter & here in the united states
we keep them in the fridge with 
little stamps on their foreheads. 
i tell my chickens to find me a boy. there is
one in every attic & one in every basement
but i need one with wings. i need one
without any holes. brand new.
fresh out of a neat disaster.
i once went on a date with myself
& i noticed three minutes in & i excused
myself to the bathroom where i wept.
it was at the cafe in brooklyn 
where the pictures online made the place
look nicer than it was. i do & don't
need to be seen as a goat.
i spit out a key to a car i don't own.
the boy was nice enough. he held my hand
as we walked across the pier 
where boys were kissing & boys were
unzipping themselves like selkies 
from their boyhood skin. to be a  boy
is to always be trying to find
a place to take the boyhood off.
for some of us that only happens
in the mouths of our lovers. i try 
to live without skin as much as i can.
it's not easy though. i lose my bones.
root in lost-&-found bins for them.
catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror
& every time, it's different & yet
somehow completely unchanged.