I met a man who was a woman, who was a man, who was a woman, who
was a man, who met a woman, who met her jeans,
who tipped the toe, who was a man, who x the x, and xx the y.
I met a friend who preferred to pi than to three,
or 3.2, the infinite slide through the river
of identitude.
A boat he did not want to sink.
Who met a God, who was a tiny space, who
was a shot, who was a God, who was a son, who
was a girl, who was a tree.
I met a God who was a sign, who was
a mold who fermented a new species on the pier
beneath the ropes of coral.
I met a man who was a fume, who was
a man who was a ramp, who was a peril who was a woman, who
carried the x, and x the y, the yy who xx the simple torch.
I rest the man who a woman who tells the cold who prefer
to win, who was a silo, a chime, who
met a coroner, a fuel, an aurora, a hero of final sweep.
10 years without a name.
An ordinary life.
Ordinary life, I would play you a tactical dish so much
alike without special knowledge or grandiosity,
tumbling, tumbling.
Ordinary life, you would be my cover.
My couple cries, you would be my rightful knowledge,
my revenge, my ordinary life.
I would smile you a hungry touch of protection.
I would carry closets.
I would sign the favor of sleep and smolder.
I would love to love, but ordinary simmer
is a trade and I, so fragile, so genetic, so tiny a hunger.
Notes they would not like.
So slow, the fragile could not hear.
A capricious hurt.
A future split.
I stopped the freeze so low, who extreme a funeral obsession
I became all collaboration.
Come quietly.
I took your boy.
And I just wanted to dedicate those last two
poems to Chelsea Manning.
And you know that Bradley Manning, who is now
Chelsea Manning, was sentenced and sent a letter to the Today
Show and came out as trans.
She's been talking about that for a long time,
but from now on wants to be called Chelsea.
And I want to dedicate this to her.