I turn on a light in a room I pace away from

take comfort behind neon signs nested in wires

an errant mirror propped against a commercial strip

or cradled awkwardly in the elbows of a passerby

my legs become their legs

mushrooms came before us needing no light

now they clean up oil spills rebuild biomes

ripped green awnings of my youth have become

sleek noun and noun stores like Gold and Rust where

you can buy boutique sticks stones dead flowers

I'm more turned on by the defunct Mustang

its turquoise alive in the rain nostalgia is dangerous

turquoise that took millions of years to form mined up

when there was one woman per one thousand men

Jin Ho threw herself into the bay when she learned

she would be sold into prostitution

threw herself not jumped so even in history she is

an object possessing herself in an act of dispossession

you make everything about yourself 

as if there's another realm where I am real

if only there was something essential 

an oil I could purchase that would reflect only you

in my floral wrists shielding my eyes

here take everything my social security number

my hope that the rush of a population will crash