i will cross my fingers and
tie my shoes
in an orderly
fashion,

with knots and tangles
as plentiful as the roots
of ancient trees
in the backyard.

and breaking backs
on concrete i am
a paint chip, a spider

i am young young young

and on the wall breathing
in little gasps,

running like an indian
across the city streets.

but the empty
glass coke cans and
cigarette butts and lotto cards
in the gutter did not
bring a single tear to my eye.