tuck it away

When the mundane sweeps you over, when you are lost in the eye of the TV, when they pass you over the conveyor belt like a piece of luggage waving detectors at you--know that I have never left you. I will be thinking of you. I will be thinking of the last time I followed your car on my ten speed, of your name burned on my chest with a soldering iron, of the Christmas presents I bought you and opened myself.

I will do pull-ups on the door frame of my padded room and with each repetition shout out your name in a different language of my own construction. I will spit Gatorade in the pharmacist’s eyes, pocket the lithium, tap dance with crushed Diet Coke cans taped on the heels of my slippers. I will bend metal lunch trays into the letters of your name and superglue them to the underside of my cot and then lie under it at night and stare at your glittering name.

Finally, I will have my roommate (yes the one that sees God in his orange juice) wrap me in a cocoon of athletic tape with a case of Merlot and an exacto knife. I will drink and I will be transformed and I will cut myself out of this cocoon and I will emerge a beautiful butterfly. Do you think you could love a butterfly with checkerboard wings? Fuck you it will be the only thing I can find in the rec room…