little boy excuses addiction
to the edge of the
harbor buckling his knees
under the cold
and he whispers to the tide
how long must i
poison and scrape must i
numb and knock until father’s grave grins
space has always housed
back pocket palms in case loosing
himself on earth
isn’t enough and sometimes
after bottom feeding glass he
plays with points of the stars for
pain people can see plays
with smoky cornered lungs like
a good idea plays hide and
seek(ing) with bottles begging
for shore and a day without gravity
little boy plays
with matter
like it doesn’t
