I’m different now. I braid my hair
To the side. Today, caterpillars
On windowsill tore themselves—
Your hand, praying thing, in my yellow
Coat. On fire in a dream, field-skin.
I’m different. I look for your lost
Body in him, in the train conductor,
Taking my ticket, the waiter, saying:
I can’t wait to see you naked. Hands
Reach for the other side of nets, tearing
Themselves apart, horrors—
My gods are different now. Angry,
They listen, ghost, the way pain
Bends, separates body from need—
I forgot what man looks like, frightened,
Waiting to split wood apart, find me.
The yellow coat—horrors gods will say
in my ear next to fruit. The window opened,
I picked round bellies, thought of teeth.
What do you want from me, a way out of tasting—
The net gathers here, you said, pointing to my neck.
Is that so? I said. Buttoned the doorframe after
You left. Ghost-herd pawing the green. I’ll lay
Three cherries in a bowl. Beat your body, dream.
On a line in blue, a yellow coat
Hoards child porn in pockets.
I ate it. Is that so? I’m angry,
Different than before. Not a cherry-tree,
An oak. A door in a cavern
Everyone’s scared to open.
Carrying three cherries in teeth of the once dead is difficult—
They moan from behind a screen—Give it. My children in it.
What do they expect me to do—beat her,
My reflection, until the gods come running—
The last time I read the gospels, an oak opened
Me, yellow coat child—I felt cutting
through the windowsill, a body peeling
fields of skin, said, Let me taste him.