*
by Andrew Jankowski

what about that day your gums began to bleed? did you ask me any questions about that? did you feel the motion sickness I felt? did you really feel alone here, among all these streetcars?

and what, if anything, is the significance, of a boy who falls all over himself, dreaming short, cut, hearts; dreaming of the other boys with out even noticing the tear-patterns that separate them?

it seems your mouth is not full of lipstick, so it seems.

it seems your skin is impossible to take care of: it’s so very old.

the answer to any questions put should be felt out in a dark, sticky room.

without liquids and without idols being made of either one of us.