September 2012

Get Along with Others

Each membrane: a fish—

living and lithe between fingers,


every wave: a tiny aquarium about to spill,


Hello, how are you?


I am fine, waiting for my turn

to do something,

to become the next greatest thing:

skinny jeans, iced coffee, music on vinyl.

I don’t know why I’m here.


Each piece of misplaced hair, a tentacle,


growing into tumors—

every glance in the mirror: a horror show.


I am alone in this white shark of a place,

touching myself to make certain I exist:


everyone here swims with others,

while I wish my whole body would turn to stone


as I look at myself.