fringe

so, there's this spot
right
below your
shoulder

blades

where - you
swear - wings
once
sprouted
(dis
in
te
grat
ing under strange
fingertips)

and and and

you've got
two
groups of

friends

who never meet.
one groups only
talks about
CRIME TELEVISION.
and the other only talks
about AFRICA.
and they sit on opposite

sides

of the local dairy queen.

you write these crazy speeches and
work yourself into a frenzy
moses!poses!roses!you
scream,
like you're
being
ripped
apart,

and
nobody
knows
what you are

talking

about.

there is only
onethingonyourmind
and
everyone
knows
(or do we?)

you've got
the look from
the hair to
the shoes
but
between the
streets
you're
only the words you
eat.

"i
know
you
are
but
what
am
I?"