in 1985, i wanted a gold tooth
i wanted proof i could be destroyed and still smile
a year later breaking became moshing
my tiny body undid everything at night
we’d get so big we’d spit adrenaline
laughing at our obvious lack of a reservoir
until they trapped us in that basement
like songs for machines that wouldn’t work
~
i wanted to be an elephant with million dollar memories
not a guilty possum
they put petroleum in our sandwiches
then bathed us in embalming fluid
different serums closed different chambers
they experimented with gravity too
i made a friend made of a different kind of flesh
who burnt so well for the things i wanted
but they beat him too like a song for a machine
because that wasn’t what they wanted
~
i wanted a submarine so i could stop breathing
through the gills in my neck
i wanted pocket forests for the million times
i didn’t run from their squawking vultures
i wanted new sneakers for all their fancy funerals
i wanted a helmet filled with better concrete than my skull
i wanted a decoder ring, two calculators and an invisible gun
i wanted capes made of fat adult skin for hide-and-seek
i wanted my own orbit and rock candy for fatigue or dizziness
i wanted worms to eat my enemies until i realized they were too
there’s no word for drowning aggressively
because everybody does