Geometry

I am from geometry.

From a stained hankie

a hole in the wall, FakeTown

where every slummer dips his beard in fourteen karat gold.

I am from my sister’s contradictions,

I am the note asking to return supplies,

thumb thack spelled wrong.

I am from the drunken crucifix

throwing beer cans at the steeple until my eyes go cross

singing glory.

I am from the spaces in between each vertebrae

trickling down to pool at the top of your tailbone.

I’m a collection of what I told you on my roof

one lonely Wednesday, with

popcorns kernels in between my teeth.

I am from the eyes my uncle lost amongst the black kohl

smudges, torn road maps

and gas station Icees,

melting in cup holders.

I’m from the ones he found up underneath his cuticles

two days later atop ivory keys.