Seagull, Tiny

The villagers are
watchful

in their booths at
boston market

The boys living on
sulfur

and talking about
feelings

and memory The
united states

is the collective
process of

demanding feelings
and a certain

memory I would live
on synthetics

but i hate fragility
Lonely and afraid,

my women sing, there
is no father

in me They talk about
anything

a limit allows There
is hope

of forgiveness, but
my american

corpse has been such
a disappointment

I would live on
feeling safe

and spilling secrets
It is confusing

the plain people
passing

like potato blossoms
When i first

met a trans person at
age 7

she served us mashed
potatoes

at boston market
Mother winced

and statistically it's
unlikely she

kept the job
I am worthy

of eating food i tell
myself There

is some hope of
forgiveness

for boys I would live
on their plastic

It is confusing that
words trick us