A fist-sized bird sat fat on the sidewalk,
I got closer, closer, thought it
would fly, at least walk––it gawked,
SCREECH static and all day
I’m running into myself
as though in a flip book, A, A, A, A, A.

This morning I met a couple
I’ve already met twice. 
They’re very nice.
To get rid of you, I’ll have to inscribe
every part of you. It’s weird 
how you go on existing.

As night fell, I fell into a wormhole
of myself, the only light’s my screen.
You’re not here.

I look so young I’ve skipped steps.
I’ve done so well. 
I’m fine. I don’t want to see you.
I don’t want to see you. 
I don’t want to see you.

I look great in glasses.
I’ve been here before.
I feel more here, but most of all where
most cars turn around
but some cars drive through the flood 
and their splashes ripple out and flood
the sidewalk, the deer 
grace the other train station.

The skin under my wrist is thin I hold it very still To keep a mosquito biting you Is an acquired skill Please hurt me but just so I scratch it Abuse in the name of men What did we do with the years with the years We were never friends