killjoy 

i want to be pineapple every single day.
canned like gold teeth. i think there is
a vibrant version of us 
in the galaxy of iron & water. 
here, i am a bird with too many throats.
a red light cutting through clouds.
when we drive into philly, we always watch
the radio tower lights. a cat's cradle
carving into the sky. as a child,
my father & i would escape to the forest to name
the painted turtles. their reds, less like
alarm & more like leaves. what i wish
is to live a life with only a spoon.
digging myself out of a dirt-floor cell.
no knives or even the sharp edge of 
a tin can lid. a smoothed smile. pastel grease
on our thumbs. i am not special or 
any more real than the seagulls fighting
for laughter. i have a wound that 
echoes. searches for places to deposit itself.
lands often in your mouth & weeps. please
stay with me. suck on this glass candy. 
i want to eat berries that don't bleed 
someone else dry. i want to go barefoot 
in the summer. stroke the cold face
of the mountain. not have to try to fit
the wound into a pair of pants & a computer screen
& these fingers that have always been too short. 
we can decide to be a new species of birds. 
not the killdeer but the killjoy. 
the song we make, not a balm 
but a tearing. nectar at our feet. 
a bathtub full of sugar.