whatever it means—less 

I’m longer than its fiction; of haircuts in magazines, next to lilacs

s h o w e r  me 

            so simple, incontextual

s c a t t e r  me 

into it the forever I am, a wink of a pot levitating its dry petals into a pastel room

this work / it’s based on two papers read backwards

simultaneously, without an attachment to either 

TONE

back again, to the shape of her wig in that classroom led by the ghost of my mother’s teacher

paint it on me, that exact shade of lavender

a place a tribute : a sketch of four walls in existence, not quite / now