because i'll never really get
what "cease and desist" means,
because there's pinpricks up my thigh
from embroidering my jeans,
because I swear to God my fingertips
are tearing at the seems,
my body is not my body, my dreams are not my dreams.

because i dig in deep amongst,
the crooked of my grin,
because i'm tired out my skull
of fucking drunk on gin,
because i knew that old Manassas
wouldn't swallow up his sins,
my body is not my body, my skin is not my skin.

because North Miami oft belies
the filth it seldom shows,
because Noremac and Quail Roost
tend towards proxies of a home,
because i cannot fathom gravel
that compiles into these roads,
my body is not my body, my bones are not my bones.

mornings i watch the sun rise out the freeway
to light up the graffiti and the dirt,
and the footprints lining Biscayne turn to shrieking:
"If this body were your body it would hurt."

because the sidewalk obstacles
are the hints i tend to drop,
because i'm so detached
that i know i can be bought,
because i'm so complacent
that it's do not or do not,
my body is not my body, my thoughts are not my thoughts.