I used to be dogged by shadows-

they would tangle around my ankles,

like vines or the straps of very high

stilletos. How nice it was to be owned.

One day the shadows drowned themselves

in a shallow pool of rainwater mixed with

motor oil. I worried about them but

commenced to gum myself together

with tar lifted off a phone pole.

I wanted to take something with me

but I feared it would taint the air

of the opium den, or whistle its

last breath in my arms.

I never wanted to walk in the

snow but it is a path with

rabbit tracks that show

there is joy in movement.

I reclaimed Track 2.

I reclaimed, “This is

dedicated to you.” I

would have found it

on my own, unearthing

it like a pickaxe seeking

valuable stones.

So good-bye to you

my favorite boy, my

divining rod of immaturity

and high school pain.

I’ve eaten the head

off the gingerbread.

It tastes of thirst

quenched by ice

cold milk.