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
destination
holding onto my few friends (you have more
than you realize) all I got
holding on like a raft in violent
storm
the bright vivid green trees of Oregon. the crows
watching out for me. the voices of children
playing
a man got murdered by a racist cop on
the night I puked by the train