i am what i am in you
one night of sleep and the milk
of your memory is thinned with stale water.
you should hold me whenever i fade away
i only stay wherever you hold me
all other parts are paper mache
devolving in the rain, elementarily.
the paper mache boy refuses to shower
afraid he’ll clog up the drainage of his entire world
so he burns his sins away, bit by bit, and when
his finger is singed he puts it in his mouth
and hopes to sleep like a gripe water baby.
i only stay whenever and wherever held in others—
if everyone i know offers a flower on my grave
i am that bouquet and nothing more.