night uniform

i put on my night uniform
to eat the moon like a grapefruit.
stinging-sweet skin & a portal 
with tin can edges. i wear clothing
until it turns to breath. thread-bare
& breeze-worn. the same shirt & shorts
every night because i'm autism 
or because i'm a rodent. you ask me where
my skin goes in the dark. i bleed.
pen tip pressed into paper. all the flesh
going skyward. we sit in the car
& talk about horrors. small horrors &
big horrors & the one eye pressed
to the back window. in the landline times
i loved to pick up the upstairs phone
& listen in on my mom's conversations.
they were never anything ground-breaking
but the glimpse into her mouth
thrilled me. talk like i am not here.
the nighttime uniform doesn't change.
if it did it would not be a uniform.
the night does not change. if it did, it would
not be night. i consider sleeping in 
the middle of the road. plugging one
of the old phones into the dirt & seeing
who picks up. on sleepovers my friends
& i liked to play a game where we would
dial random numbers. once we got
a hole. the hole said, "i do not have
time to wait." we hung up before it could
say anything else. if we make it to the moon again
i hope i can go barefoot. i bet it is softer
than everyone says. i find my lover's grapefruit rinds
in the sink when i come home. the moon, gone.
regrowing like a severed fist beneath
blankets. i put on my night uniform
which is strange because i never took off
my night uniform. the flesh beneath 
is scattered. a handful of dice. a butterknife.
i am some kind of gathering.