[the bird]

The bird does not eat the cherries
The bird does not drink the water
The bird did not lay the egg
The box made them all by a complicated magic

In the bathroom stall I undress for the women


In the bathroom stall I undress for the women
outside I undress for hours
This is the inside of my shirt
Tonight my body is covered in stars

In the big room a woman walks thinly half the
length of the stage Stopping: Fabric grows
from her like a cloud machine operated
from her hips

I build a costume of film footage from different
cities The snow in Montreal jumps
like ghost snakes around my neck Rome
makes small wrist-shadows Tokyo: postcard-
sized I stretch across my belly

My clothes refuse to cover me Skin snakes through
things My body is a city and
clothes the snow railing against my angles
splitting and fraying and growing old like
wool people used to work in