In position, 

I’m going to give myself everything I want. 


Farce, denaturalizers painted bronze, 
               guilt again on the horizon. 


               I’m no king midas. 
               I have spectres in my jungle clamoring, 

I have this solid earth here. No map cuts. 

I have the papers to my country and a respectable day job 
I have percentages of companies that much thicker 

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                                          I protest ‘cause I 
                                          want to. I don’t really protest 

The probability of losing my body is too real. I’m told I punch too hard 

              And decorations benefit everyone even if I hate them. I can’t have everything hitting the
              ground because of me. 

                                           It’s all a little bit pointless 

                                           On this side 

                                           Of the border. 

Penicillin 
Spooky action at a distance 
This is how much wilderness I have in my body. 

All this. 

If you’re too scared to say anything now, imagine what’s coming? 

             Crisis after crisis.
             Selling my femur for soup, entrance. 

I’m told I’m magnificent in 
the winter and beyond. I 
wear stars. 

             I’m no Medusa either, winning stamps on my passport. 

Instead I barricade myself in schools and train 
and break and bury 
at the disposal of my country. 
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And what’s the point of all the things I do if there’s an army of us?

I’m no longer allowed to break even. 

I’m suffering, it’s 

Performative man this 
wound the world over. Crisis 
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Appeal. 
Constant comparing. 

Constant comparing. 

Fortunately I begin every comparison on Instagram and there are no
soldiers there. And like, 
I can memorize a man’s huge thumb. 

I can prophesize correct opinions. 

I can lick sweat from the inside of glass. 

All for my country. 

                                         We don’t want distance 
                                         from harm, we want blood.
I’m going to give myself everything. 
Proof that a chest is a carrier for hands 
and anything below the belt is 





                                                    This is the position I guessed. 
                                                    This plentitude. 

                That the average American consumes 25 times more
                than any underside of that same belt 





Here, my participation in civic life: 

                             The US visa website is purposefully infuriating.
                             Everything breaks. 
                             To get my mother here it has cost $1,870 USD. 
                             I take all approval letters on my knees. 

                             After she’s one of us I’ll reconsider 
                             the whole not-protesting.

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