About the author

(not pictured)

The body that surrounds him is his, but his insides are not.
He was born on a few separate occasions green traffic lights at night
There was the day of his conception
a wintery affair saved for those involved
a TV in front of a dumpster
The day he wriggled forth
from the dark tunnel of nothing
his mother’s womb
surprise photo of you at Walgreen’s
The founding of his little city
deep inside by the small builders
alien as they were and still
somehow intimately familiar
a pink dress in the alley behind your house
Like any city it had its ups
and downs the fever of 1994
was especially devastating
but they were a hardy folk
not much given to flight
me buying a Reese’s peanut butter cup for a child
[whose family couldn’t afford it]
in front of me in line at Safeway
As all things must pass the
little city began slowly to decay
the old ones claimed the young
had no respect for culture anymore
trees at night their skeletons
revealed by a camera flash
They began to die off slowly
more quickly than being born
the end was coming closer
two earthworms on pavement after a rain
As the last breath was made
the last accounts closed in the city
keys tacked to a sign in Buffalo Park
It was given over to other builders man flipping a four-wheeler and walking it off