The body that surrounds him is his, but his insides are not.
| He was born on a few separate occasions | green traffic lights at night |
| There was the day of his conception a wintery affair saved for those involved |
a TV in front of a dumpster |
| The day he wriggled forth from the dark tunnel of nothing his mother’s womb |
surprise photo of you at Walgreen’s |
| The founding of his little city deep inside by the small builders alien as they were and still somehow intimately familiar |
a pink dress in the alley behind your house |
| Like any city it had its ups and downs the fever of 1994 was especially devastating but they were a hardy folk not much given to flight |
me buying a Reese’s peanut butter cup for a child [whose family couldn’t afford it] in front of me in line at Safeway |
| As all things must pass the little city began slowly to decay the old ones claimed the young had no respect for culture anymore |
trees at night their skeletons revealed by a camera flash |
| They began to die off slowly more quickly than being born the end was coming closer |
two earthworms on pavement after a rain |
| As the last breath was made the last accounts closed in the city |
keys tacked to a sign in Buffalo Park |
| It was given over to other builders | man flipping a four-wheeler and walking it off |