man turns into woman gives birth

maybe i'd sold the books-- could be.

ankit says he'd kill himself but we wouldn't believe him.
instead i drew
sharks & airplanes on bits of paper. made jokes.

make jokes, for the love of god, make jokes.

it was the best
remedy for everything, including gout
and back pain.

so my analyst wants to be a photographer
& there is a book i saw

we'd parked the car at the beach past 5:00 and debated
whether the sand was really snow or the snow
was really sand. the world was blue

and whipping at our throats. new york, nice
enough but the cold caught up
inside us and the cigarettes are too much.

so we ran out quickly. he is living in a basement
in park slope & his room doesn't have a door.
the curtain rod keeps falling.

they cut a line down my father's face
after they'd called it a cancer.

consider a run, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, depressing
he says- ridiculous.

will would move into town, into these stretched
& useless arms. they call you up & no one answers.

we ran out quickly
after that-- should've seen you & i'm sorry.

to avoid all talk of babies & make bad jokes
as i'm leaving, i sleep through goodbyes. i leave things
behind. i dont blame you.

i should've met you in the city & i'm sorry.

they cut a line
down my father's face
& i'm sorry.

the garden is hurting this winter.

he says depressing and i make bad jokes about leaving
things behind me. it is hard to be here and always leaving.

help me build a dog in the snow. this is important
i'll say, when you want to go in. we'll sleep foot to head
in a room with no door & i'll leave before the snow dog melts.

it is getting used to be here & always leaving.