I steal letters from mailboxes
with telepathy my grandfather
handed down from his grandfather,
the prodigy, the orphan
with poor spelling: you say
that's trouble for angels

*

I sing in apocalypses and count the debris;
you stare into dissonance hold the word
dear:

*

I hide in the closets of classrooms,
elevate what's toothless, honest, and bold.

"You creep, you insignificant vine,
you rat-catcher you."

*

I am afraid of my mother's voice
when it cries and hurries
and hiccups and cries again.

"You are just like your father."

*

I wear makeup no one can see.
It stains me sometimes, the reds
collide with your blues; sometimes
it's nothing but white.

"What are you,
some kind of freak American flag?"