Portland, OR May 16, 2008

the grass tastes like fruit and the wind smells flowery
girl on the hill above me sitting on a bench
with another street boy
saying things like I never thought
I’d live past 20, the nurses and
doctors touching my whole body
when I wished they’d check out
my foot my foot was fucked up
the cops
going in and out of everything I’ve ever been
and everything I am becoming
transformation, rebirth, death
in and out of the light rail train
the journey more pleasurable than the
holding onto my few friends (you have more
than you realize) all I got
holding on like a raft in violent
the bright vivid green trees of Oregon. the crows
watching out for me. the voices of children
a man got murdered by a racist cop on
the night I puked by the train