The Boy and I

The boy and I make nice

because there's too much suffering

and send messages through the flight patterns

of migratory birds

and when his answers caw

at my window I open it up

and cut cloacas in my breasts to let the

fat out

and I tell him "I'll get you your surgery someday

I promise"

and he says "black feathers

                          blue feathers

                                        south."