—LOST WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN FOUND

      hey hi.

      hi hey.

good to see you. really. i mean all of you.

the shredded feather bits and leaves and hairy roots, detritus and stingy regrets.

but about me. or him. or that person i'm supposed to be. yeah, that guy. okay. well...

i am gender neutral. i just decided that this second, because nowadays (ha!) we can determine for ourselves who we are, what skin we want to assume / assuage / massage, which way our sex was originally meant to swing.

so, yes, at this very moment, i am gender neutral. i am gender not / knot, gender-bending in my sleep with a lumpy pillow and a coarse breath curled inside my ear-waxed canal.

mostly i am gender / generally confused.

do you care? does that matter? will it even make a difference if we ever get angry with each other over a very flakey croissant or cabernet?

but forget about it. forget about me already. really. do it quick. do yourself a kindness. i am worse than fake news. i am horrible / a human being. i am bad news. absolute trouble. i'm confused a lot of the time. i am nine or sixteen or fifty-nine going on nine again. fuck. nah. i don’t mean it. never did. overlook that last comment, please. hit delete.

i am no one you or i know, but i'm your best friend. i've always been your best friend. truly. i’ve been in that corner with you all along, stones under both our knees, blood leaking into the slats and creases.

wait, am i talking to myself here? are you paying attention? are you hearing what i’m saying?

what I mean is, together we could reconfigure the stratosphere, manufacture our own molecules, gerrymander oxygen.

together we could set the stars dancing with a set of really nice castanets.

wait. disregard all that. or don’t. don’t. just kidding. who am I kidding?

wicka wicka, what?

come on, scooch a bit closer. two inches at least. here’s a crooked hug and a svelte butterfly kiss which might be a bit slimy though delicious nonetheless.

but the thing is, the main thing you need to know is, i embarrass too easily. i fold and bleed too readily. flee too freely, especially when my toes are perched on the cliff and the breeze is wicked-ass strong.

for instance: a frail finger of sunshine can slice me in half.

for instance: the moon cracked my skull wide open last night and out spilled gummi worms, a three-leaf clover and plenty of leftover question marks.

for instance: (…)

still, i keep looking at every blade for an answer, licking rust off the tip. it would be erotic as hell if i didn't actually mean it, if i wasn't that fucking miserable and desperate to hear you say hey hi, how are things, i miss you.