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Blue Manhattan




What is this my hand can do? It’s something like

                                    electric. Charge. Flicker.


Put your tongue to me and tell me I taste like battery.

Ray Evans did not have me in mind.

Whatever will be, will be; but,

                                                            it will be,

                                                                        this time,

                                                                                    up to me.

I can move the molecules in your body, so fast that you skip

                                    a shiver,

and before realizing

                                                it’s not cold,

I’ll turn you inside out. People will wonder where your skin

                                                            has gone.

                                                                        To be afraid is truth.

It’s more fun this way. That’s truth. Can I learn any different?


                                    something different

from blown up chunks of bone and tissue and fat? My finger

is a death-note and I’m conducting

                                                            a symphony.




I recognize my life now. Some people only understand the past

but I have

                                    backwards and


My mind’s eye is my own spoiler and I’m positive there is no


all of what I see is certain.

                                                                                    Gods are not wrong.

I am certain that I have loved and found both, shade and sun.

I couldn’t tie my shoes until I was 10. When I was 5, I got Gabriella

                                    to fake my test.

I remember her black hair.




The government and I agreed that fighting terrorists

                              is an infinite battle

unless I close them up

                                    between my fingers

and open them

                                                up to everywhere.


And then I knew. I knew that the way we ran our schools and arranged tax brackets

was wrong.

                                    I said,

Please, listen to me.

                                                They didn’t.

                                                            So, I closed my hand again.




If gods can feel, I assume they feel like shit pretty regularly.

If you know what happens next

                                    you try to be the sanguine.

                                                            If I smile too much, the power is gone.

How would you like your god to be? Is it enough if he tries?

Or do you need


I woke up in the morning to Philip Glass and ate no food because

I’m never


I’m only an epic now, except shorter.


Call on me when things go





Things I used to take for granted:

•      Not eviscerating a good section of town when I throw a tantrum

•      Aging

•      The importance of being, at least a little, ignorant

•      Driving

•      Skin

•      Headaches

•      The way people seemed to look through me




My mother once told me

                                    Always keep that good heart of yours.

I once made a girl a big red heart, out of construction paper and cardboard

and little macaroni

                                                pieces all around.


Once a girl told me that I was her best friend, and that she would love me

until I





I’m not dead yet. I am blue


As much as I look, white-eyed, fatigued—I feel not present—

and ultimately unable

                                                to bond.

I’m formulaic on a superhuman level.

                                                                        But, you will presume

                                                                                                to understand.

He’s dangerous. Because I’m


He’s criminal.




My brain blinks like gaudy Christmas lights that never



I used to look into your fragmented blue eyes every morning,

                                                I called them snowflakes—

I’d whisper

                              I love you

and before releasing the snow, your lips would slowly create plot marks

at the tips of a crescent, pointing


until your eyes opened.




I realize I’m impervious. But, I still come in


                                                the dirt.

You say that you’re miserable yet you don’t mind me asking

to make

                                    things better.

Is it because you know I can’t help? Or, because you know

                                                                                    how I want to.

I once knew a boy who was normal and he was happy.


                              one day

the world pulled him out a son. Then the world

                                                                                    grew fangs.




All the good kids on the block are the ones who



Let me drive you to therapy.

I’ll bring radiation to you. Blue radiation. It’ll warm you up,

                                                cook you.

My eyes will become vapid, and then you’ll look at me and say

You’re staring off a lot more than usual.



                                    on me.

And I’ll say: I won’t my sister, I won’t—but, if I was powerful for a moment

I would trade brain


                                                            with you.

Only two more hours to go.




The last gift I bought a girl was a locket with no


decorated on top with filigree and a trinity, like the one


to her hip. I used to think about getting ink done, not because

I had a statement to make or an image

                                                worth remembering—

I wanted one more


Now, I draw on images of time passing




You’re more of a man than anyone I’ve ever known.

In between the white glow of pupil and the paper thin peach

of my eye lid, I have that       





My father once told me

                                    Son, we are here for you always and we are proud.

Once I emptied a bottle of Jack—

                                    blacked out

                                                woke up

                                                            crawled to the couch


because I realized that the world spins. And I looked out my window

at a city covered in snow. Only at night it didn’t look white

                                    it was blue

                                                and it wasn’t a blanket—

                                                            it was a tarp.

I went away after that and the world was the same.



First published in Anti Heroin Chic, 2017

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